


Seasons of Peace

by Adrastos



Series: Tales of Mossflower [2]
Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character-focused, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Sequel, Vignette, Worldbuilding, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25327954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrastos/pseuds/Adrastos
Summary: Following their return from the campaign against Swartt Sixclaw and the liberation of Mossflower from Tsarmina's Tyranny, the creatures of Salamandastron and Mossflower settle into a newfound, if occasionally tenuous, peace. As time passes and the scars of war fade into memory the victors move on and prosper, each seeking to carve out their own place.And yet, amidst the peace, those farsighted enough can just barely sense a few storm clouds building on the distant horizon.
Series: Tales of Mossflower [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834474
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	1. Year One - A Hard-Won Peace

~ _Winter_ ~

Winter on the coast of the Western Sea was quite a bit colder than Sunflash had expected; he was pretty sure that it was actually colder than the winters back in Mossflower Woods had been, once he sat down and thought about it. Not that it mattered _all_ that much, considering he was a badger and thus had a good bit of fur on him, especially now that – for the first time in six years or so – his body was getting the proper amount of food.

At least, the cold didn’t matter all that much physically. Psychologically, well, that was a different matter entirely.

The first snow of the season had been rather underwhelming, all things considered, nothing more than a few flurries and a thin coating of white on the sand and the mountain that had all melted within a day of it falling. _And yet that little bit was still enough to nearly break me_ , Sunflash mused as he watched snowflakes dance and whirl outside his window for the tenth time since that horrid day. _What kind of badger lord will I be if I can’t even look at a bunch of snow without freezing up?_ Sunflash, Lord of Salamandastron, the Snow-Fearing. It was so pathetic that he almost had to laugh about it. _HE would. Swartt’d laugh himself breathless and then go out of his way to make me stand in the snow as much as possible, damn him._ Not for the first time, or the hundredth for that matter, Sunflash wished that he could pluck his former master out of thin air and hurl him from the top of the mountain. _It’s all his fault I’m scared of the snow, anyways. That first winter, back when he –_

“Lord Sunflash?”

A voice from the doorway yanked Sunflash out of his reverie, sending a brief jolt of panic through him as he whirled around and dropped his good paw to where his mace normally hung. “Stay back, or I’ll –” Before he could finish his sentence it finally registered in his brain that it was only Lupin, Captain of the Long Patrol. “Oh, uh, sorry about that, Captain.” Sheepishly he drew his paw back, trying not to blush. “I was daydreaming. Is something the matter?”

Lupin, to Sunflash’s undying gratitude, decided to act as though nothing unusual had happened, and instead through up the usual salute before making her report. “No, sir. At least, not yet, though can’t say whether the situation might not change soon.”

“Oh?” Sunflash raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Rather than answer, Lupin held open the door and gestured for him to follow. “Some petitioners here to see the Lord of Salamandastron. It’s better you hear what they have to say from the source, instead of from me.”

Sunflash came down to Boar’s audience chamber – _my audience chamber,_ Sunflash reminded himself – and tried to look as regal as possible as he gazed down at the mixed crowd of otters and searats that had begged an audience.

Their leader, a one-eyed rat with a scar across the top of his face, stepped forwards. “My Lord? Lord Boar? Are you him?”

 _They want my grandfather. Oh, if only he were here…_ But he wasn’t, so it fell to Sunflash to deal with whatever was troubling them. “Boar the Fighter is gone, slain this past Summer. My name is Sunflash the Mace, and I am the Badger Lord now.”

The creatures down below all looked at each other, muttering uncertainly. “We’re, uh, sorry for your loss, my lord.” The rat wrung his paws nervously. “I hope we didn’t offend you.”

Sunflash made himself smile. “Worry not. I’m sure news travels slow on the seas. Now, what brings you to the mountain today?”

It turned out that the group was all that remained of a fleet of merchants, one that apparently plied the Western Seas and stopped by Salamandastron every so often to restock and rest. It was the first Sunflash’d heard of them, but Lupin seemed to recognize the rat, so he assumed that they were telling the truth.

“Anyways, we were a day out of Ruddaring when we were hit by a storm. It blew us southwest, all the way to Terramort, and although we tried to slip away we weren’t fast enough. This stoat fell upon us with a big ship and – and he…” The rat trailed off, unable to speak.

“He _butchered us_ , m’lord.” An otter took up the story. “We were ten ships before he found us, and of those ten the one we came in’s the only one that made it away. Everybeast too old to row the boat was thrown overboard, all the men he chained up and took the whip to, and the maidens –”

Sunflash held up his paw, fighting the bile that had been steadily rising in his throat. “You don’t need to say it. I’ve seen what vermin do to those they capture.” _Swartt made me watch plenty, so I’m well aware._

Rage and disgust intermingled, and although Sunflash kept his face impassive the steady drumbeat of his fingers on the stone of his seat broadcast his emotions for all to see. “Did you happen to see what the ship looked like?”

“It was _big_ , m’lord.” It was the otter who answered. “Three decks I’d wager. And she was painted blueish-green, like the ocean. It’s how they were able to sneak up on us.”

Sunflash nodded. “Three decks. Painted like the ocean. Anything else to go on?”

“There was a big scarab on the front sail,” the one-eyed rat added, “painted all black when they unfurled it.”

“I see.” Sunflash stood up. “My good creatures, thank you for your time. Lupin, see to it that the cooks prepare a warm dinner for everybeast, and have Sergeant Bragg set up some quarters for them.” He walked down to the rat and placed his paw on the other creature’s shoulder, the way he’d seen his mother do a few times. “You have my word that the scum that attacked you will be brought to justice.”

The rat stammered out a thank you and turned, leading his group out of the hall. After they left Lupin walked over and smiled.

“You did well, Sunflash. You aim to go after the blighters as soon as possible, I’m guessing? Haul ‘em all back here for the ol’ trial and a rope routine?”

Sunflash, thinking of his own experiences with slavers and rapers like these vermin, shook his head. A savage grin on his face, he looked at Lupin and chuckled. “Nope. For bastards like this, there’s only one thing to do.”

He clenched his paw, imagining it closing around Swartt’s neck.

“Kill every last one of them. We depart in four days.”

***

Bella had been out speaking with the residents of the little fishing village that had sprung up a few miles south of the mountain, and judging by the look on her face Sunflash guessed that his mother had found out about his intentions upon returning to the mountain.

Bella’s first words confirmed it. “So. The hares are all talking about how you want to hunt down and kill a bunch of pirates.”

“Slavers, mother. Did you speak with the traders about what they suffered?”

“I did.”

“So you understand that they deserve justice.”

Bella nodded. “Justice? Certainly.” She crossed her arms. “Just like how the Long Patrol deserves a better end than running off and dying in some remote corner of the sea. _Four days_ , Sunflash? Are you mad? The Long Patrol can’t possible get fully prepared in under thrice that.”

“But if we wait that long, who knows how many innocent creatures those monsters will wipe out?” Sunflash curled his injured paw subconsciously, rubbing his fingers over the spot where his thumb used to be. “How many orphans will be made by our delay? How many innocents taken as slaves? How many maidens raped?”

“Fewer than will be made by you rushing out and destroying the entire army. Obviously I can’t exactly order you to remain here, but as your mother and as your advisor, listen to me: you need to _wait_.”

“Waiting? Don’t talk to me about _waiting_ , mother. I’ve done enough of that at the paws of pirates and their kind. Well, I’m tired of it. Never again.”

Bella understood then. “You do remember that we’re talking about the corsairs, right? Not Swartt? I understand that you want to keep what happened to you from happening to other creatures, but you won’t accomplish that by charging out the moment and trying to kill every single thing that reminds you of him.”

Sunflash had no answer, so instead he crossed over to the window and looked out into the wintery morning. The snow was falling thicker and faster now, and he noticed that he couldn’t even see the bottom of the mountain or the ocean.

“Did I ever tell you about my first winter as Swartt’s slave, Mother?”

“No.” _Did something happen then,_ she wondered, _that’s driving this?_

“I can’t say how things were down here or in Mossflower, but up in the Northlands the winter of six years ago was cold. Talk in the camp was that it was the coldest in fifteen years, or something, and although I don’t know I can certainly believe it.

“Swartt had taken other slaves besides me, a mole and a shrew, but by the third week of winter they were both dead.” Images flashed through Sunflash’s mind: the shrew, skinny as a stick, shivering in the frigid night, the shivers slowly growing weaker and weaker until the shrew died. The mole, losing a paw to frostbite and being gutted by Swartt for being useless. “I only lived because of the thickness of my fur, but that only kept out the cold. It did nothing about the hunger.” Sunflash felt tears start to drip down his face as his voice grew tighter with grief. “Some days I’d go the entire period from sunup to sundown without seeing so much as a morsel. One week I went two days. And through it all, there was Swartt. He just grew angrier and angrier, and as the winter went on the beatings got worse by the day.”

Sunflash turned back to his mother. “I will not let anybeast face that sort of winter. Not while I and everybeast else in the mountain have the strength to fight.”

“Sunflash,” Bella chose her words carefully, “you have every right to feel the way you do, and I won’t argue that the world will be better off once those pirates are taken or slain. But ‘wait’ does not mean ‘let them go’, only that you’ll be waiting until the best possible chance to free those suffering.”

“Mother, as someone who’s been in that hell, let me tell you that for a slave every extra second spent in chains is –”

“Almost an extra lifetime, I imagine.”

“Exactly. So do you understand why I need to move as soon as we can?”

“Why you _need_ to, no. Why you _want_ to, yes. Sunflash, like I said, I can’t make you wait, but just answer this question: what happened the _last_ time you acted too hastily over a slaver?”

Sunflash rubbed his missing thumb once more. As he did so Bella turned to leave, giving him one last bit of advice as she left.

“If you run out now, it won’t be just your thumb.”

Sunflash turned back to the window. _By the fur, I wouldn’t be able to see my own paws if I was out there._ It would make navigation treacherous, and if the storm didn’t let up by the time they set sail…

If they went out without wearing the proper clothing for the frigid weather…

If they lacked enough firewood…

 _Damn it_ , Sunflash realized, _mother’s right. To go out now, with no preparation, would be suicide._

They would wait, he decided.

_I really hate winter._

~ _Spring_ ~

The carnations were in full bloom, and Mask was just beginning to stroll up and down the River Moss in order to make a bundle to surprise Bluefen with when one of the other otters in Camp Willow sprinted up to him and spoke exactly three words – a tiny number, really, but enough to make their recipient drop everything and head for home:

“The babe’s coming.”

As Mask barreled back to Camp Willow at speeds that would make the fastest hare blush, a mixture of joy, terror, curiosity, and paranoia flooded his head and refused to leave.

_By the fur, the babe’s coming, the babe’s FINALLY coming! I’ll be a father!_

_Will she even survive? The ottermaids are great at delivering babes, no doubt about that, but Bluefen’s not very…if she dies, I’ll…_

_Wonder if the babe’ll find it strange, having an otter for a father and a ferret for a mother?_

_Of course, assuming it even survives. What if something goes wrong_?

Mask was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he was back at Camp Willow until he slammed into another otter hard enough to send his entire basket of fish a good eight feet into the air.

“OI! Watch where you’re going, mate!”

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking.” Mask paused long enough to help the poor otter up. “Too nervous. Need to get to my wife.”

“You…you _do_ remember that only the women and healers are allowed in the room, right? Not the fathers?”

“Oh.” He’d forgotten that bit.

“And besides, do you really want to go in like that?” The otter gestured at Mask’s legs. “I mean, you’ve got enough mud on you to sink a rowboat. Not sure that’s the best thing to track into a birthing room.”

Mask blushed. “You’re, uh, probably right.” Still, he couldn’t stand the thought of just waiting around, so after giving one last apology he sprinted off towards home.

Sure enough the entrance was barred to outsiders, although that didn’t stop Skipper from nervously hovering outside.

“Is she alright?” Mask asked his brother after they embraced. “Nothing’s happened, has it?”

Skipper shook his head. “She’s fine, mate. Spring and Elodea are seeing to her, and they told me they have plenty of faith that Bluefen’ll make it through in one piece.”

Almost at that exact moment, a pained scream floated out from inside. Mask paled and started for the door.

Skipper grabbed his brother’s paw, holding him back. “It’s okay, Riverwyte, that’s normal. She’s giving birth, remember? It’s _supposed_ to be painful.” He tried to give a reassuring smile. “There’s a reason why they used to say that birth was a special type of battle, after all.”

He patted Mask’s shoulder. “She’ll make it through this. I promise.”

Even so, Mask still worried, a fear that refused to abate as the hours dragged on and on.

 _This is worse than waiting for a battle_ , Mask decided as the light began to dim around them, yet still he waited, until finally… after what had to have been at _least_ a month…

The silence of the otter holt broke as the cave began to ring with the sounds of a squalling babe. The door opened, and out stepped Elodea. It was impossible to read her face in the late-night darkness, and so Mask immediately assumed the worst.

“Bluefen, is she…did she…”

“Well, it was long and hard, I won’t lie about that, but Bluefen made it through safely.” Her face broke out into a gentle smile. “Quite the fighter, your wife.”

Mask started through the door, but before he could make his way in Elodea placed a paw on his chest, telling him to wait.

“Not yet. Your wife’s still resting, and there’s plenty of cleaning to do. Birthing’s a rather bloody business, you know.”

“I’m a spy. I can handle a little blood, damn it.” Mask struggled against the other otter’s paw. “Now _let. me. see. my. family._ ”

“But it’s not –”

“Oh, just let him in,” Skipper interjected, “before he kills somebeast.”

Acquiescing, Elodea sighed before standing aside and letting Mask into the room. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he stepped forwards.

The first thing that struck him was just how _loud_ the babe was, loud enough that Mask was briefly tempted to rip off the bottom of his trousers in order to make a set of earplugs. _Well, better crying than not, I suppose._

The second thing was the fact that, as Elodea had warned, birthing was a fair bit messier in real life than in the stories, and the intermingled stench of blood, sweat, and – blessedly faint – waste was an equal surprise. Both mother and son were positively drenched in all manner of fluids, the origins of which Mask had absolutely no desire to ask about.

All the same, in that moment to him they were the most beautiful creatures in the world.

As Mask walked across the room the cries began to quiet and finally stop as the babe fell asleep, and Bluefen gently cradled him in her arms. Only once she was satisfied that the babe was asleep did she look up, noticing her visitor. She smiled, too exhausted to speak.

Mask was similarly quiet, though in his case it was more due to the fact that his brain had abruptly stopped working.

“That’s him?” He finally managed to say, rather lamely.

Even sheer exhaustion was unable to stop Bluefen from snorting in amusement. “I…I should hope so. Unless there’s another ferret that just gave birth in here.” She noticed that Mask was still standing there, unwilling or unable to approach, and so beckoned to him.

“Is it safe for me to? I mean, that nursemaid didn’t even want me in the room.”

“As long as you’re careful. And besides, don’t you want to meet your son.”

 _My son. Right._ It was a weird phrase to hear, particularly considering that the babe wasn’t even actually his blood or even his species, but all the same Mask crept forwards until he was standing over the bed. Gently, slowly, he brushed the babe’s fur, taking in the little shape nestled in Bluefen’s arms, filled with pride until –

“Mask.” Bluefen sucked in her breath. “His paw, it’s…”

The little ferret had six claws on his left paw. Just like his father. His _actual,_ blood father.

“I know.” Much as Mask would have liked to just shrug it off, the sight of that sixth claw, that visceral reminder that his son was the blood of one of the cruelest bandits in recent memory, set his stomach churning. _Does that mean he’s destined to follow in his father’s pawsteps?_

“What’s wrong with his paw?” Skipper had slipped in unnoticed along with Elodea, and without waiting for an answer the otter peered curiously over his brother’s shoulder. “It looks fine to – _oh._ ”

“It’s the same as Swartt’s. Same number, same paw.” Mask was unable to keep the worry out of his voice.

Bluefen was similarly worried. “Swartt’s father had a paw like that, too, and to hear my father tell it he was almost as vile as his son.” Her voice trembling, Bluefen gave voice to the fear that they were all at least considering. “What if- _what if he turns out like his father_?”

“If I may, my lady,” Elodea ventured, “that certainly is a possibility, and we may have to watch him as carefully as he grows, but… that does not mean that as went the father so will the son.” She looked at Mask and tried to give him a reassuring look. “Particularly if he has another father he looks to.”

Mask wasn’t convinced. “Still, the paw is…”

“Brother, don’t worry about it.” Skipper patted his brother on the shoulder. “That may mean everything, sure, but it might also mean nothing. I mean, think about Gingivere and Tsarmina. They’ve got the same eyes, and when you get right down to it bright green eyes are about as odd as six-clawed paws. And they’re pretty much night and day, aren’t they? Just keep steering the kid straight, and I’m sure he’ll be fine. I mean it.”

Mask looked down at Bluefen, who nodded. “It makes sense. Maybe we _are_ just worrying about nothing.”

“Whatever the case may be, that’s all far downstream from us.” Skipper gave his new nephew a fond look. “No sense in worrying about that now.”

“I suppose not.” Mask felt the tension leave his shoulders. _A father. I’m really a father now._ The joy had set back in, and Mask found himself grinning and crying at the same time as he bent down and gave both the ferrets quick kisses.

Elodea cleared her throat. “Now, I imagine that you two probably want a bit of privacy, although I’m curious: had you already considered a name, by chance?”

“Not yet.” Bluefen answered. “This whole thing’s just been so uncertain – if the babe would be a boy or a girl, if one of us would…would pass, that we never really talked about it.” She looked down at her son, and then up at her husband, the otter that she dearly hoped the babe would come to see as his true father.

As she did so, inspiration struck her. “Say, Mask, what do you think of naming him ‘Veil’?”

“Er, that’s certainly a _unique_ name.” The otter thought it over. _Actually, it’s not bad, really, and I think I get what she’s trying to say._ He looked back down at the babe. _And come to think of it, it actually kind of suits him._ “You know what? Veil it is.”

“Why ‘Veil’?” Skipper asked. “You didn’t just, I don’t know, take the word ‘evil’ and rearrange them, did you? To say he’s different from Swartt or something?”

Bluefen shook her head. “No, definitely not that.”

“Then what?”

Bluefen waved her paw at her husband, then at her son. “Mask, Veil.”

“It’s a way of letting everybeast know that this babe is _my_ son just as much as Swartt’s, if not moreso. At least, I think that’s what you meant?” Mask looked back at Bluefen, who nodded.

“I understand.” Elodea smiled. “I think that’s beautiful. And I’m assuming that you’re both committed to that name?”

“Completely.” After she spoke the word, Bluefen fell back onto her pillow and closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling.

“You really are tired, aren’t you?” Mask asked.

Bluefen nodded without opening her eyes.

“Want us all to leave you be?”

Another nod. “I’m sorry, Mask.”

“I understand. Just rest now.”

Skipper and Elodea left first. Mask lingered just a moment to kiss his wife and son one more time, and then followed them out the door.

No sooner did he do so than Skipper slapped him on the back. “Congratulations! Sorry it took me so long to say it, but congratulations all the same. Never really saw you as a father, won’t lie, but you’ll do wonderfully.”

“Thanks, Warthorn.” _I just hope I CAN actually do this._

“Calling me by my first name? Strike my rudder, this _is_ a special day!” Skipepr grinned. “Can I interest you in a pint or two of ale to celebrate? The last caravan from Southsward left us an entire barrel.”

Ordinarily a barrel of ale would’ve greatly appealed to Mask, but tonight, after everything, all he wanted was a few moments alone to think, and he said so.

“Maybe later, then?”

“Maybe. Depending on how I feel.”

Mask took leave of his brother and started walking, neither noticing nor caring where exactly his paws took him, until he found himself standing at a little bend in the River Moss where the water had pooled over into a little rocky section. Absentmindedly he touched the water; it was still cold from the early spring snowmelt, and after the heat of Camp Willow it felt good running through his fur.

_I wonder – would this be a good place to teach Veil how to swim some day?_

~ _Summer_ ~

That this summer had been cooler than the last was something everybeast in Mossflower was extremely grateful for – with as much of the country burnt to the ground by Tsarmina, nobeast was sure that another brutally-hot summer would be endurable. Or even survivable.

But, thankfully, there had been plenty of rain towards the end of spring and so far the temperatures had been mildly hot at the absolute worst, giving Mossflower a much-needed respite. More and more creatures felt relaxed enough to do little more than laze around in the sun, sleeping or singing or playing as though not a thing was wrong in the world.

Martin was most emphatically _not_ one of these creatures, rising at dawn almost every day and immediately making for Kotir’s training yard with his sword. There he’d immediately set to work on some practice dummies long enough for the rest of the castle to wake up, after which he’d transition to whichever willing opponent wandered into his view.

This morning it was a mole by the name of Dinny, a friend of Gonff’s who had enlisted in the Thousand-Eye army on the first day of Summer. Although small the mole was quick, and Martin had no doubt that before the season was out Dinny would be well on his way to becoming _quite_ the swordsbeast.

Still, that was over a month from now, and in the meantime, Martin was sure he’d be winning most of their contests. Sure enough, soon Dinny fell to the ground, victim of a blow to the shoulder.

“You shouldn’t let me lead you so much – the less you’re in control, the less likely you are to win.” As Martin spoke he whirled his right arm, trying to drive the stiffness away. _Blasted arm still doesn’t feel completely right._

“Burr aye, you’im be making that right clear, m’lord.” Grunting with effort, Dinny stood up for a moment before wincing and dropping back down to the ground. “Yowch-that last’un nearly took moi arm right off.”

“It’s only a sparring sword, mate, it hasn’t got near enough an edge for that.” Martin chuckled. “And enough with the _m’lord_ s. Any friend of Gonff’s a friend of mine, so just call me Martin unless we’re around my father.”

“I’m thinkin that baint be roight, though, m’lord.”

“ _Martin_. Nobeast is going to rip your tongue out for saying it. I’m not my sister, and the rest of the army’s not her cronies.” _Nearly a full year after we drove them all out, and everybeast STILL acts half as though Tsarmina and Cludd and their like are still around to enact their cruelties._ He and Gingivere were doing their best to right the wrongs their sister had made, and Amber had managed to purge out anybeast that was of her or Cludd’s way of thinking from the army, but it was still painfully clear that there was plenty of work to do.

So to try and help clear the air, Martin sat down next to his sparring partner. “Dinny, I promise you that nothing we say in this yard will leave it. You can even swear at me when we’re fighting if you want.” Gesturing towards the spot where he’d _thwacked_ the mole’s arm, he grinned. “And come on, I know you probably wanted to after that last one.”

Dinny laughed. “Fair enough, matey. Oi’m promisin’ ee, though – one day Oi’m be paying y’ back for that m’lo – Martin. Almost had you that one toime, though, iffin’ only oi was a wee bit stronger.”

“What, when you tried to overpower me?” Martin stood up and offered his paw, and Dinny took it. “You weren’t even close. And, honestly, that sort of approach’s a fool’s errand Best not bother.”

“Mm? Whoi not?”

“Because you’re small, like I am. Only moreso.” The advice Bane had given him all those years ago came rushing back, and with them a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach; a lingering sense of nostalgia and loss that Martin had become very familiar with over the past year.

He kept speaking. “Can we make up the difference enough to match a rat or a weaker ferret blow-for-blow? Aye. But a fox? A big stoat? All the training in the world can’t overcome the simple fact that even the weakest of them is bigger than the strongest mole or mouse. Trying to match them strength to strength is a fools’ errand.”

Quick as a flash and before either of them could blink, Martin swung his sword up and out until it was level with Dinny’s neck. “Now going for speed, that’s where we have the advantage.” Another heartbeat, another moment, and Martin’s sword was pointed back at the ground and the mouse had leapt back five paces. “Outmaneuver and outflank, that’s how smaller creatures like us win. Is it harder to master than simply hacking and hammering away? Yes. But is it better? Also yes. Does this make sense?”

“Burr aye.” Dinny grabbed his own sword and returned to ready position. “You’m be wanten another round, matey?”

“Certainly, if you’re willing.”

They clashed again. Martin won, although he couldn’t help but note that Dinny had gotten just the tiniest bit closer to actually hitting him.

***

Around lunchtime Dinny was called off for more training, and as his departure left Martin without anybeast to spar with he decided to take a break as well. _Perhaps it’d be a good idea for me to get something to eat. Breakfast was a while ago, after all._

The path up to the kitchens took him up the stairway towards the apartments that he and the rest of the Greeneyes family occupied, and on the way up Martin happened across his brother. Gingivere took one sniff of the overpowering stench of sweat emanating from the mouse and promptly retreated a few steps back up the staircase.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re going to get somebeast to draw up a bath for you?”

Martin shrugged. “Later, maybe. Right now I’m on my way for a bite to eat.”

“You’ll make everybeast in the entire kitchen keel over, you know.”

“I honestly doubt that.” Martin stepped towards his brother in order to pass him, but as he did so he smelled a light, earthy scent drifting off Gingivere.

Like, say, the sort of scent that would come from a lowborn maiden getting the occasional gift from an admiring lordling.

_Ah. I see._

Martin felt an evil grin split his face. “I see the problem, Gingivere – it’s less about what I may happen to smell like and more about what it contrasts to, I’d wager. How _is_ Sandingomm, by the way? Haven’t seen her around lately.”

Gingivere immediately blushed. “Oh, uh, she’s…she’s fine. I was just – just teaching her how to read, and she’s been making some real progress lately so I thought she might like the reward.”

“And did she?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, she said –” Gingivere caught himself rambling and glared at his brother. “Just shut up and go get your lunch.”

Martin suppressed a snort and jogged up the stairs. Truth be told he was actually glad to know that Sandingomm was doing well; once he’d gotten past the strangeness of being around a female wildcat that didn’t want to kill him Martin had found he rather liked her, particularly how she never failed to make Gingivere smile. _Something he’s been doing less and less, this past year. Not since it became apparent that father’s hip is never really going to heal all the way_.

For the second time that day a dull ache seized Martin’s heart, this time as he remembered how in the depths of this past winter his father had been stuck in his bed for a solid week, overcome with pain. Sure, the warm weather helped some, but all the same it was the rare day that the old wildcat was able to walk around unsupported for any significant length of time.

Upon arriving outside of the larder Martin realized that his appetite was gone. Unsure of what to do, Martin glanced back at the staircase and looked upwards towards the landing that marked the lord’s bedchamber. _Maybe I should go visit father, see how he’s doing, if he needs anything…_

Before he could decide, the door opened. Detta, the head cook, stepped out carrying a large bag of flour and nearly crashed into Martin before stopping short.

“Oh! My lord! Sorry – didn’t see you over this load.”

“It’s fine. I was the one standing next to the door like an idiot.” Martin looked at the bag, curious. “What’s all that for?”

The old stoat gently set the bag down on the floor before continuing to speak. “Just bringing things down to the kitchen for later. Never know when something might spring up on us, after all.” Now it was her turn to be curious. “And what about you? Why were you loitering outside the kitchen?”

“Well, I _was¸_ hungry earlier, but…” Martin trailed off, not sure whether he wanted to tell Detta his worries about his father.

“If you’re hungry, fell free to let yourself in. It’s your family’s castle, after all.” Before Martin could reply Detta snapped her fingers. “Ah, that reminds me – could you take some things up for your lord father after you finish? I don’t think anybeast ever brought him what he asked for.”

“Will do.” _If I can actually face him._

Martin wound up stealing a loaf of bread for his lunch, and unable to stomach more he grabbed the meal his father had ordered and continued to ascend up the stairs.

Upon reaching his father’s antechamber, Martin froze in place.

_Can I do it? Can I actually go in? What if he’s worse?_

He took a deep breath and shook his head. _No. Don’t act like that. If father’s worse the castle wouldn’t be carrying on as normal. It wouldn’t. It couldn’t._

_Could it?_

There was only one way to find out, so Martin reached out with a nervous paw and gently rapped on the door.

“Enter.” Martin noticed that his father’s voice was less strained than it had been the past few days, and took enough heart from that to walk in.

“It’s me, father. I, uh, brought your lunch.”

“About bloody time they remembered I’m still alive.” Although his face was wan and tight with discomfort, Verdauga smiled out at his son. “Thank you, Martin.”

The old wildcat busied himself with his food while Martin forced himself to look his father over. _Is this a good day, or a bad one?_

It was too hard to tell, so Martin decided to take the direct route. “How’s your hip today, father?”

Verdauga looked up from his trout filet long enough to gently rest a paw on his leg. “One day is very much like the rest, I’m afraid. It’s aching something fierce, make no mistake on that; I’d wager there’s rain on the way.” He sighed. “Still, thankfully at the moment the hip’s the only thing that’s bothering me, and I suppose I should be thankful for that. But what about you?” Verdauga’s gaze turned to his son. “How’s your arm?”

“Fine. It’s still a little stiff, but it’s certainly healing better than you are. I don’t _get_ it, though – why is that? It broke just as much as your hip did, so why is it coming along so much smoother?”

“I’m getting old, while you’re still young. It may be that my body’s just not able to mend itself like it used to.”

The words ‘you’re not _that_ old’ came to Martin’s lips, but they were unable to pass; try as he might, even Martin could see how much greyer Verdauga’s fur was, how the years seemed to have drained him.

So instead of saying anything, Martin excused himself and all but fled the room.

Although he didn’t notice on the way down, on the horizon black clouds were slowly beginning to drift across Mossflower.

_~Autumn~_

Skarlath had found that living in Salamandastron brought a myriad of benefits and drawbacks, and the changing of the seasons had brought new things he liked about the mountain and new things he disliked. In the former category was the view: although Salamandastron itself sat in the middle of a massive beach it commanded an unmatched view of the surrounding forests, and thus the coming of autumn meant that Skarlath was treated to a vibrant palette of reds, oranges, and yellows intermingling through the trees every time he took wing.

In the latter category was the wind. Skarlath had never seen the ocean before moving to Salamandastron with Sunflash, Bella, and the Long Patrol, and so it had been news to the kestrel just how _fucking frigid_ the autumn winds sweeping off the waves actually were. It was enough to make a creature long for the nice, relatively warm caves and forests inland. Several times. Per day. Indeed, to hear Sunflash tell it, Skarlath had spent a full half a year doing nothing but complaining about the weather, to the point that same of the hares in the Long Patrol had made a drinking game in which every time they heard a complaint they would take a sip of rum.

So, Skarlath decided, this year they wouldn’t get a single complaint out of him.

Today was putting that to the test, though; the north wind had come in and immediately joined up with the ocean winds, and the result was a mix so cold that Skarlath half expected to see icicles forming on the edges of his feathers by the time he finished his morning patrol.

As always, Sunflash was there to meet him when he winged back down to the mountain peak, and the badger greeted his friend with the usual wave.

“Morning! How’s the flying?”

“Fair enough, I suppose, once you get used to the wind. It’s a bit col – _complicated_ when you’re being blown in two directions at once.” _You’re not getting a temperature complaint from me, mate._

“I imagine it is.” Sunflash seemed to have not noticed the near slipup. “But enough about the wind itself – what news does it bring? Anything new to report? Some horde marching down from the mountains, perhaps? A corsair slipping in from the west?” It was meant as a joke, yet unless Skarlath was mistaken he could see a dim hunger in the back of Sunflash’s eyes.

Thankfully, though, that hunger would have to remain in the background for now. “The only thing marching in is the changing of the seasons. There’s a girdle of snow on Mountpit and the other peaks, and it’s only a matter of time until it works its way down to the coast.”

Skarlath studied his friend, curious as to what Sunflash’s reaction might be. As he’d expected Sunflash tensed up slightly, almost imperceptibly, his mouth forming a tight line. “I see…well, I suppose I’ll have to speak with Lupin and my mother out getting the supplies in order.” Sunflash gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I may have to ask you to go to Mossflower soon depending on what I learn. Their supplies might be necessary.”

“I understand. I’ll be fine if that happens, don’t worry.” _At least you’re not sending me out on the bloody winter solstice again._

“Thank you, my friend. Did you see anything else? And what of the other birds? Any news from farther north?”

Skarlath shook his head. “Just the same old tales about a robber here, a bandit there, and not a sign of Swartt. Or Tsarmina Greeneyes, for that matter. There _was_ one bit of news about a stoat in the far north setting up some sort of fortress, but it was too vague for my tastes.”

“Was it that bastard Clogg from last winter?”

“I thought you and the Long Patrol killed him?”

“No, it was some wannabe-tyrant with a metal paw. And besides, didn’t you and the Long Patrol kill Clogg last winter?”

“If only. The villain managed to sneak away with a single longship. Someday I mean to hunt him down, if I can find him.” Sunflash shook his head. “But that’s a plan for the future. In the meantime, go down to the kitchen and get yourself something to eat. I imagine that after flying in winds as _complicated_ as these you’re in need of a good sit by the fire.”

 _Ah. So he DID notice. Damn._ “I think I will, if it’s all the same to you.”

Skarlath hopped off the top of the mountain and flitted down to the windows overlooking the great hall, taking a moment to watch all the hares hustling and bustling. _They all look so…relaxed. But then, why shouldn’t they? It’s been what, nine whole months since they were last at war? I suppose everybeast can enjoy a bit of peace every now and again._

Everybeast, that was, except for Sunflash. That hunger in the back of his eyes, that longing for bloodshed, was something that Skarlath had seen time and time again since they’d first arrived back at Salamandastron well over a year ago. Although most days it was just an echo, barely there and so divorced from the way that Sunflash acted that Skarlath was able to tell himself he was just imagining things, every so often a casual remark or choice of words reminded him.

_Kill every last one of them…_

Skarlath had been sheltering in Mossflower at the time after a particularly brutal flight through a blizzard and so hadn’t been privy to the exchange, but Bella had told him all about it when he returned.

At first, Skarlath had vehemently denied that it was possible. _‘He wouldn’t! There’s no way Sunflash would be that bloodthirsty.’_

_‘I heard it with my own ears, Skarlath. Sunflash wanted blood.’_

At the time it had seemed impossible, but over the past year Skarlath had learned better.

And it terrified him, if he was being honest with himself. It was terrifying to think that his friend, who was normally so kind and caring, had such a desire in him. To think that maybe, just maybe, there was actually a danger of Sunflash snapping set his heart racing.

He’d heard the stories of the destruction that Boar the Fighter had wrought before Bella had been able to put him down, after all. The thought that he could see those stories come to life…

 _No. They won’t. I won’t let them._ Skarlath turned back to the outside and forced himself to take a deep breath of the chilly autumn air, and then another, and another, until he’d calmed himself down. _So long as I’m by Sunflash’s side, I’ll do everything I can to keep him on the right path. It’s my duty as his retainer, as his friend._

Another breath, and he was back to normal. _No sense jumping off a cliff until something actually happens._

The air currently turning his insides into a polar icecap reminded Skarlath of Sunflash’s idea, and he had to admit that at the moment sitting in front of the fire sound just swell. So, peace of mind restored, he winged down into the great hall and helped himself to a nice bit of meat.

He was about three-quarters of the way through his plate when he heard somebeast call his name. Looking up, he noticed Lupin waving at him.

“Morning, Skarlath! Back from patrol, I see. It’s flippin’ cold out, eh wot?”

 _Not a word. Not a word. I won’t let them start this game up again._ Skarlath merely smiled and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Eh, I’ve been in worse. And it’s worth it, to get a look at all those trees out there. The hillsides are practically a giant work of art!”

The hare laughed. “True enough, true enough. I’ve always enjoyed that about this place, and I promise you that you can’t get a show like that anywhere else in the world.”

“I’d believe it.” Skarlath decided to change the subject before things circled back around to the weather. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about a one-pawed stoat, would you? Apparently, there’s one in the far north that’s raising a bit of a ruckus, to hear the crows tell it.”

Lupin frowned, her brow knitted in thought. “Hmm…can’t say I recall ever hearing about a rotter like that. Did these crows of yours know anything else? Like a name or what they looked like?”

“I don’t think so.” Skarlath tried to remember. “It was ‘Bad’…something. I think.”

“Badrang?” A soft voice answered from Skarlath’s left, and he looked to see that Bella had taken a seat next to him. “I think I know of who the crows are talking about.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” Bella shuddered. “Badrang was the very same beast that took me, Gonff, and Gingivere as slaves. And he _did_ lose a paw to Martin, as I recall.”

“That was the blasted rogue you met on the way up to the army, right? Surprised he’s still alive, honestly.” Lupin studied her mug. “Would’ve thought that somebeast like that’d be overthrown by their own soldiers.”

“Well, apparently he wasn’t. How far north did the crows say he was?”

“Far. All the way past the Broadstream, I think.”

“So, then. I see no reason to worry our heads over it yet, eh wot?” Lupin glanced up at the great, empty seat where Sunflash sat during his meals. “Although, if I may speak clearly, I’m not sure we should tell his lordship. Poor fellow’d go ballistic and demand we march at once, I’d wager.” She sighed. “And besides, we’ve ruined our victuals enough with this dour talk already! Let’s talk of something happier!”

Skarlath rolled his eyes and turned back to his meat, finishing it without saying another word. The great hall was getting a bit stuffy, he decided, so once Skarlath had managed to excuse himself he flew back up to the windows and went out above the beach.

Once again the autumn winds hit him straight on, but this time he welcomed them; their bracing effect had a way of clearing his head, and he had a lot to think about. Sunflash, Badrang, the coming winter…

 _By the feathers, my life’s become more complicated since I joined up with this lot._ It was enough to make a kestrel long for the simpler days, back when he flew from place to place without having to worry about politics or whether his best friend was going to go insane.

Skarleth landed on the beach and let his talons sink into the cool sand as he gazed southwards.

 _I could go,_ he realized, _and leave this behind. I could go south, where it’s always warm. They’ve got to have kestrels down there, don’t they?_

For half a second it was an appealing thought – the idea that he could just take flight and go somewhere that life could be simple again, never looking back. But then that half second passed, and he looked back at the mountain that had been his home for the past year.

His home. It really was, Skarlath realized. The first place he’d called a home since he was a chick, in fact, the first place he truly felt he belonged. _Eh, to blazes with it. That’s worth dealing with all the complicated things, I suppose_.

Skarlath took flight again, watching the waves for a bit before turning towards the mountains in the distance, looking at the glorious swathe of colors and at the white crown of snow towering above it. _You know, Lupin was right: there really ISN’T a view like this anywhere else. Certainly nowhere that I’ve been._

He turned for home, and for once, even though he was flying straight into the wind, Skarlath realized that he actually didn’t feel all that cold. _Maybe I’m going native_.

There were worse places to do it of course, he knew, and like as not none better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's not QUITE a full sequel to Martin Greeneyes (which will come eventually, I promise! I've already got most of the ideas down, I think), but more of a 'bridging the gap' sort of interquel.   
> The idea's for this work to take place over the course of three years - one year per chapter - and have each season feature a different character, showing how they change and evolve as the years go on and sowing a few seeds for the full-blown sequel.   
> A few stray notes on each section:  
> -Winter:  
> \--I've probably been playing a bit too much Fire Emblem Three Houses since I finished up Martin Greeneyes, and when I write stuff for Sunflash it, ah, rather shows. I'll try to keep him from going full-on post-timeskip Dimitri as I go on, I promise.  
> \--Something that I always wondered about Salamandastron but don't ever recall being in the books: why aren't there any settlements around the mountain? It'd make sense for there to be some, considering that the Long Patrol are some of the best fighters in the series.  
> -Spring:   
> \--I tried to strike a balance between the sort of clean, idealized birth we often see in fiction with the fact that birth is, well, rather messy, but I probably wound up leaning a bit too far on the idealistic side of things.  
> \--Personally, I find the idea of the name 'Veil' serving to connect Mask to his stepson to be rather pleasant, and I'll cop to preferring my justification for the name over the one in Outcast of Redwall.   
> -Summer:  
> \--Fun fact: this is the first time I've ever written dialogue for a mole. It legit took me a year and a half (and a handy online guide) to actually get comfortable writing molespeak.  
> \--Apologies for another Three Houses reference. I'll try and stop.   
> -Autumn:  
> \--Is me giving Skarlath an entire section to himself a mea culpa for completely forgetting about him last time? Absolutely.   
> \--Like molespeak, I find harespeak fairly difficult to right, so if anyone has any suggestions for improvements or grammatical advice I would really, REALLY appreciate it.


	2. Year Two - Memories and Growth

_~Winter~_

Verdauga’s day began, as they all seemed to as of late, with a stab of pain in his hip strong enough to jolt him out of a sound sleep. Today the pain was far sharper than it had been in a long time, but the wildcat supposed it was only natural: they were a week past the winter solstice, after all.

_That also means that it’s only going to get worse._ When the winter really began to bite, Verdauga knew, every day was going to be a torture just as they had been last winter, and like as not within a few weeks it would get to the point that he wouldn’t even be able to walk anymore.

Wincing as he forced himself to sit up, Verdauga turned and looked out his window. A light covering of snow had fallen over the night, just enough to bury the very top of the castle’s masonry in a thin, white blanket. The view from his window was pleasant enough, almost to the point that it distracted him from that blasted hip of his.

_I wonder what’s going on down in the yard_. Normally, early snowfalls like these meant that several of the young and newly enlisted creatures in the army would set up snow forts and wage war on each other, often with Martin and Gingivere taking one side or the other. Perhaps that was what was going on now?

Moved by his curiosity Verdauga decided to chance standing up, and he grabbed his cane before gingerly placing one paw on the floor. His bad hip twinged in protest, but besides that he was fine, so the old wildcat decided to test out his other paw. That went less well and the second his paw hit the ground Verdauga felt as though somebeast had smashed his hip with a hammer, but he forced himself to grit his teeth and bear it. _I’ve sat in bed enough._

Determined not to let the pain stop him Verdauga hobbled over to the window and opened it, the exertion tiring him far more than he would like. Gazing out into the chilly morning he saw that a number of soldiers had indeed begun the traditional snow battle, although neither of his sons had joined them. _Perhaps they’re getting too old for it?_ That was always strange to think about, the fact that his sons were getting older, inevitable as it was. _Come to think of it, I’m getting rather old myself, as this damned leg of mine can attest. Maybe if I lean against the windowsill it will stop shaking._

It did help, somewhat, but at the same time his paws on the window began to ache as well from the cold. _I just can’t win, can I? Either my leg nearly collapses, or my fingers grow stiff as sticks._ Watching all the younger creatures below, Verdauga felt a stab of jealousy: they could still run around and hold the snow with ease, while he could barely move.

Suddenly he was sick of the view and of the cold. Sighing, Verdauga stiffly closed the window and began to limp over to his great chair. Collapsing into it he rubbed his hip, grumbling under his breath in irritation.

Soon, he heard a knock on the door. “Hello? It’s Gonff. I’ve brought your breakfast.”

Verdauga realized he was still wearing his bedsheet – not exactly fit attire to be greeted by the cook with. At the same time, he realized that he didn’t really care. “Enter.”

Gonff came in with a mixed plate of salted beef and fruits, and stopped upon noticing the wildcat’s state of undress. “Should I, um, come back later?” He was blushing. “Once you’re, well…”

“Dressed?” Verdauga shook his head. “If you wait until then you’ll be waiting until lunch. I’ll take my breakfast as I am now.”

Gonff opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and instead delivered the food before immediately turning away. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

“Hmm?”

“Could have caught you wearing even less, now couldn’t I?” Gonff turned back to Verdauga. “You don’t ever…”

“No.” Verdauga glared back at the mouse. “And I would ask you to not be so impudent around me.”

“Right, sorry about that, my lord. I keep forgetting you like us to – I mean, that I need to ‘observe certain courtesies around you’, as Martin says.”

“Do you talk to him that way?”

Gonff smiled rather cheekily. “At times. When he’s getting a bit high on himself.” Gonff gave a little cough and straightened up. “But he’s not you. I promise I’ll remember that in the future. Is there, ah, anything else you need?”

“No. That is all.”

“Alright, I’ll, uh, see myself out then.”

Verdauga watched the young mouse leave, feeling slightly guilty, and turned to the fireplace as though expecting to see a roaring fire. Unfortunately, it was completely dead, without even the slightest ember.

“Gonff?”

“Yeah? I mean, um, yes, my lord? What do you need?”

“Two things: the first, I need to say I’m sorry. I told you to hold your tongue, yet I wasn’t exactly doing the same. It’s this weather getting me all testy.”

“I’m sorry about that. My lord.” That Gonff was unsure where this was going was plain to hear. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Could you get me some firewood? Getting a blaze going would really help.”

“That an order, I take it?”

“A request, as I imagine you’ve got other duties.”

Gonff waved a paw. “Nothing too important. Detta’s got the other cooks doing all the food for the army, so it’s not really any trouble at all.”

“I’m glad. Thank you in advance.”

Gonff left, leaving Verdauga alone with nothing but his thoughts and his pains. _If only this had healed properly…_

But then, he supposed that he had nobeast to blame for that but himself. _I pushed myself too hard that autumn, no mistake. I wasn’t in near good enough a state to walk around as much as I tried to, particularly that big feast we held._ It had seemed the best thing at the time, in order to restore a sense of normalcy to his life, but in hindsight the idea that he was able to resume anything close to regular activity had been pure arrogance. _And now, it’s too late for me to do anything about it. These aches and jolts will be with me until the end of my days. Although THAT’S like to come earlier than expected._

He hoped that, whenever the time came, Martin and Gingivere would be able to carry on. _They’ll still have each other, I suppose, and Sandingomm. And Gonff, mouthy as he gets sometimes. Say, where IS that mouse anyways? He’s been gone a fair bit._

As though summoned by his thoughts, soon Verdauga heard somebeast knock on his door again. “Hell-my lord? It’s…Gonff…again. I…brought a couple…of logs. Oh, and the…flint, too.”

“Thank you.”

Gonff opened the door, huffing and puffing. “If I…may speak…openly, it’s a… _lot_ harder…to come up with logs than with…food.” He dropped the logs in the fireplace with a grunt, and soon enough a fire was blazing merrily.

Verdauga leaned forwards and held his paws to the fire, feeling the heat seep into his bones and push back the pain somewhat. “Ahhhh. _Just_ what I needed.” He looked at Gonff again, smiling at the mouse. “Go back to the kitchen and tell them you need a flagon of wine.”

“For breakfast?”

“For a reward and an apology for taking my temper out on you. Take whatever kind you like best.”

“Oh, _I will_ , my lord. Gonff gave a deep bow and started off, practically skipping.

Verdauga watched him go and turned back to the fireplace, feeling strangely tired. _Perhaps I’ll rest my eyes for a bit._

Soon, the silence disturbed only by muffle shouts from below and the crackling fire, he fell asleep.

_Verdauga stood on the highest tower of Kotir, gazing out at the land below, strong and young again. He looked out into the distance; all was peaceful, the land bearing none of the scars Tsarmina’s fires had left, instead being covered in spiked grasses mixed with red and yellow flowers._

_A drifting breeze drew his attention westwards towards the mountains, and Verdauga saw Salamandastron, standing strong and hearty. As he looked, though, Verdauga seemed to see darkness writhing and stirring from below, as though welling up from the very depths of the earth._

_And then he looked north, and saw fire. He worried that it would spread down into the south and consume Mossflower, and while the flames themselves remained in the distance the smoke billowed closer and closer until it swept over the grassland before dissipating into nothingness._

_No. Not entirely. Upon closer inspection some smoke lingered, clenched tight around one of the flowers like a great, dark paw. Verdauga looked harder, hoping to discern some meaning, but has he looked the ground became blurrier and blurrier until he could see nothing but a great streak._

_So he gave up and looked eastward. There, too, something was gathering: a great, shivering mass, one second yellow and the next second darkest violet, sweeping over a great building of sand._

Verdauga awoke, wondering what it all meant. _If it means anything at all._

Yet another knock on the door interrupted his musings. “Father? It’s Gingivere. May I come in?”

“Certainly.” The door opened and his son stepped in, looking nervous. “Is everything alright?”

Gingivere slid across the room and dropped into one of the chairs opposite Verdauga’s. “Yes, I was just…just worried about you. I saw the snow this morning, and I know how much you start hurting when it gets like this. And it’s been a while since you came to one of the Corim meetings, so I thought it was best to check on you.” Gingivere motioned down at his father’s leg. “Does the fire help?”

“Somewhat. It still hurts, though, but I’ll manage.”

The two of them lapsed into silence as Verdauga studied his elder son. _Nearly a man grown, and he’s still such a skinny thing. Perhaps I should have insisted harder that he pick up a sword every once in a while, instead of a book._ Then again, the Lord of Mossflower would need to be well-read and educated in a variety of things, and it wasn’t as though there _seemed_ to be any present need for Gingivere to become a warrior.

_Although…_

“Gingivere? May I ask you something?”

“What is it, father?”

“Have you ever read anything about prophecies in your books?”

“A little. Why? I always assumed that prophecies were nothing but a bunch of speculation.”

“Not all of them. The Badger Lords of Salamandastron occasionally enter into trances and carve images of the future into the mountain itself. They always come true, Bella once told me.”

Gingivere frowned. “Did you enter into some sort of trance, then?”

“No. A dream.” Verdauga told Gingivere about it all, from the flowers to the writhing mass, wondering if his son would have any idea what it meant.

When Verdauga was finished speaking Gingivere put a paw to his chin and thought. “Well, it’s certainly…interesting. I’d wager that the smoke and that weird yellow-purple thing have to do with invasions of some sort. Have you been worrying about that lately?”

“I’m the Lord of Mossflower. I _always_ worry about invasion from somewhere.” _Perhaps that’s all it is._ “But then, what of the flowers?”

“Those, I have no idea about. Maybe there’s going to be a caravan of florists coming?”

Verdauga snorted. “In the middle of the winter? I highly doubt it.”

“Then you’ve got me. Of course, my guess is that your dream was only a dream, father.”

“You’re probably right.”

Gingivere gave his father another look before getting up and excusing himself.

Verdauga leaned back in his chair. _‘Only a dream?’ Then why did it feel important?_

_~Spring~_

Spring was always an interesting time to live in Mossflower – it was a time of planting the seeds for the harvest and of hoping for the rains that would nourish them, while at the same time hoping that the rains wouldn’t be so fierce as to kill all the plants and hoping that you didn’t overburden the soil or put the seeds in wrong. It was a delicate balance, particularly when you still had to pay the taxes to Kotir.

It was a balance that Gonff had typically tried to cheat one way or another, doing what he could to hide a bit here and there from what he’d always considered the thieving hordes out of the castle while still giving enough to throw them off the scent. This spring, though, the prospect of doing that felt wrong; probably because all the particularly horrible bastards that had previously tormented everybeast had long sense been hanged or beheaded, leaving the Thousand-Eye army made up mostly of those creatures that actually believed in fulfilling their duties as protectors of the region.

That, and he’d discovered (thanks to a law passed by Gingivere, if he recalled the explanation correctly) another, entirely legal way of keeping more of the food his family grew in the family stores: the wonderful world of tax deductions.

It was this new program that they’d started called ‘levy by work’, in which those with families could volunteer for a spot doing some form of labor in exchange for a reduction in the amount of food that their kin would have to yield up to the Thousand-Eye army. Mostly it was along the lines of construction or cleaning, but there was one highly-sought after position in the castle kitchens. For most creatures, getting that position would require a great deal of luck.

Of course, most creatures weren’t exactly the best friend of one Martin Greeneyes, second in line to rule Mossflower. One quick invitation to dinner later, and Gonff managed to lure Martin and Gingivere down to the Stickle household. One serving of Crispy Cheese ‘n’ Onion Hogbake after _that_ , and the position was a lock. Sure, he felt a _little_ bad for cheating the system like that, but what could he do? The Stickles still had four little ones. And besides – he’d take pounding bread over building a road or being back in the fields any day.

That fact was one that he was reminded of one morning when, during breakfast preparation, the blue skies abruptly turned dark purple and began to dump buckets of rain on everybeast unfortunate enough to get caught outside. Gonff looked up from the seeds he was grinding up just long enough to notice that the view outside the window had turned into what he imagined the backside of a waterfall looked like, wincing.

“By the fur, I’d hate to be the poor sods out in town.”

“Aye.” A young squirrel named Peony shuddered. She’d been in Mossflower only a few weeks, having been plucked from the camp of some bandits that had wandered a bit too close to the border, but Gonff felt she was adjusting to the kitchens well enough. “It’s not healthy, getting caught out in that rain. Think they’ll let everybeast stay inside?” She turned to Gonff and noticed the disbelieving look on his face. “What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question to ask.”

“Oh, right, you’re new. That’s…not always how things work around here.” Although it had been as of late, at least more frequently. “Honestly it really depends on what sort of work we’re talking about. Some of the extra things like the square and that inn Billum wants to get set up maybe, but I think that the really important ones like the road are going to keep going on rain or no rain.”

“I’d say so.” Detta sat down next to them, skinning a fish while they talked. “Though considering how hard it’s going out there the farmers are probably going to get off easy. Doubt you can even dig a hole and put the seeds in fast enough before the water’d fill it to the brim. What do you think, Gonff? Think they’ll let the fieldpaws stay in?”

“How should I know? I haven’t worked out there in, what, a year? A bit more? I have no idea how they’re running it now.”

“Have any of the Greeneyes said anything about that?” She gave him a searching look. “You’d know better than most creatures.”

“Why? It’s not like I’m on the Corim.”

“But aren’t you pretty close to them?” Peony asked. “That’s what everybeast says, at least.”

Gonff set down the bowl of seeds and shrugged. “Depends on the Greeneyes. Martin? Aye, absolutely. Gingivere? Kind of, but not as much. Lord Verdauga himself? No more’n you two. And besides, it’s not like government policy comes up all that much when I’m talking with them.”

“Oh.” Peony’s ears drooped for a moment before perking back up. “But could you maybe find out? It’d be really helpful to know things before anybeast down in Moss Town does.”

Gonff smiled. “You don’t need me for that, matey. For some things it’s easy enough to tell on your own?” The only response was a tilted head, so Gonff decided it would be fun to show off. Just a tad.

“Take the breakfast we’re making. It’s simple enough, right? Just a few fish and bits of other meat for the lords and your standard fare of bread for the army.”

“Right…”

“Did you happen to look at the stuff they just brought down from the larder this morning? The stuff that we’ll be using for the dinner?”

Peony looked over. “Let’s see – there’s a lot of greens, loads in fact, along with boxes of something I can’t make out. I know the label’s red, at least.”

“That’d be the seasoning. Oregano and cumin, I’d bet. Right, Detta?”

“Right.”

“Didn’t know the castle _had_ fancy seasoning like that.”

“They don’t drag it out much besides special occasions. So then here’s the next question: what’s the occasion?”

Peony thought about it. “Is it somebeast’s birthday?” She began to pace. “Hmm…it wasn’t Martin’s, that was a couple weeks ago…and nobeast else was born around this time that I know of…so then, I guess I need to figure out who likes that sort of seasoning?” She looked back at Gonff and Detta. “Am I getting close?”

Gonff had to chuckle. “Kind of, but you’re still missing the point; why would the Lord of Mossflower feel the need to bring out his most rarely-used things?”

“Because he wants to impress somebeast?”

“Righto. Any guess as to who, or how to figure that out?”

“Does it…does it have anything to do with where the food comes from?”

“Aye, although I’ll admit I don’t really know myself. Detta?”

“It’s from far south of here. We get a caravan from Southsward every so often, and we buy the seasonings from them.”

“So then are – are the guests from this Southsward place?”

Gonff snapped his fingers. “Exactly! Unless the rain stops ‘em they’ll be hear within a few hours.”

Peony beamed at getting it right before bouncing off to continue working. After she was out of earshot Detta bent down next to Gonff.

“So, how much of that did you actually get from the food?”

“Nothing, to be honest. Martin’s been going on about it for a good week.” He shrugged. “Still, it’s a useful skill to have, and giving new creatures like Peony over there a little confidence boost is never a bad thing. She’s been here for how long, again? Two weeks?”

“Three.”

“Really? It’s been three weeks already? By the fur, time flies. No wonder the Thousand-Eyes finally shut up about it.”

“Can you blame them for getting a bit excited? Most of them haven’t had a proper battle in a _long_ time. They’ve been stuck doing most of the construction around here.”

“Better that than running off getting themselves killed.” _Especially now that Dinny’s one of ‘em._ “That or sitting around here getting fat while the rest of us work.”

“ _Shhh!_ ” Peony had wandered back over just in time to hear the last bit, after which she gasped and immediately clamped a paw over Gonff’s mouth. “ _What if they hear?_ ”

“You think that’s the worst thing I’ve said about the Thousand-Eyes?” Gonff had to snort. “That’s not even in the top ten.”

“But still! If somebeast hears you speaking like that they’ll –”

“– huff and grumble and tell me to shut it. That’s all.” Gonff gave the squirrel his best reassuring smile. “Peony, I promise you that most of them aren’t all that bad. Anybeast that was _anything_ like those vermin you used to be with are long gone. Lord Verdauga gave them all the rope or the axe a while ago.”

Peony didn’t respond, instead looking to Detta for her opinion.

“He’s right, Peony. Sure, some of the ones that come from elsewhere are a little rough around the edges, but they’re basically good creatures. Certainly, they care a lot more about us smallfolk than they used to. Of course, if you were to go up to a Thousand-Eye and start swearing at them they’d probably give you a clout to the face, but you wouldn’t exactly get thrown in the dungeon.” Smirking, the stoat jerked a thumb back at Gonff. “Otherwise this one would over here would never see the light of day.”

Gonff laughed. “I’ll cop to that. Kid you not, I went after Martin with a sword once and all it got me was a night in the dungeon.” They both gaped at him, which made Gonff laugh all the harder before continuing. “Granted there were other reasons for that, but still. Honestly, in my opinion giving a little cheek every now and then’s a good thing. Stops the fancy clothing and weapons from getting to their heads.”

Detta shook her head, amused. “You know, Gonff, I think you have way too much fun sometimes.”

Gonff merely shrugged as a response before turning back to his work. She _was_ right, he supposed; certainly Ben Stickle had taken him to task plenty of times as a child for his mouth and warned him of the consequences, but at the same time he just couldn’t help himself. Whiskers were made to be pulled on, after all, and he liked to think that he knew where and when to draw the line. Sometimes. Occasionally.

And besides, considering that it was his mouth that had really gotten his friendship with Martin going, he was quite proud of it. After all, no friendship with Martin meant no being busted out of Kotir and probably no journey north, and had that not happened like as not Tsarmina would still be here along with all her flunkies. And if _that_ were the case…

Now it was _his_ turn to shudder. _I’d probably be dead, to be honest. Dead, exiled, or rotting in a dungeon._

It was a strange thought, that: the fact that a chance run-in on an otherwise-unremarkable staircase had led to the complete upheaval of Mossflower. Had he decided to go on a different night, or taken a different route out of the castle, it was entirely possible that nothing would have ever changed.

“Gonff? Is something the matter?” Gonff blinked, noticing that Detta was staring at him with a confused look on her face.

“Nah, I’m fine. Just thinking about things from a couple years ago, is all. Nothing really important.”

Shaking her head, Detta smiled. “Just don’t think too hard, or we won’t get everything we need done for today finished.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Gonff threw her a mock salute and bent back over his task. _Huh. Less than two years ago, Detta or somebeast like her would’ve actually meant it when they said ‘don’t think’. I guess things really HAVE changed._

Gonff turned back to his seeds, listening to the patter of the rainfall.

_~Summer_ ~

_The forge is hot today_ , Bella thought, _almost like father’s just finished making something._ But that was merely wishful thinking – the great billows were still and covered with a thin layer of dust, and nothing in the room had been used for anything save the occasional repair for roughly two years at this point. Almost exactly two years, considering that today was (at least she _thought_ it was, if she was figuring correctly) the anniversary of her father’s death. _The day Boar the Fighter fought no more._

It was because of what day it was that Bella had come alone to the forge, enduring the heat that came not from a badger hard at work but from the summer sun beating down against the great mountain, because she wanted – no, _needed_ – to be alone. Just her and her memories of her father.

_The same father I killed with my own two paws. My greatest regret save maybe letting Sunflash wander off on his own._

But that was an old pain, and one that she would have plenty of time to think about later. Now was for memories of their time together, not how it had ended.

Bella looked up at the ceiling. It was dark and high, much as the ones in some of the larger rooms back at Brockhall. Particularly like the main hall, now that she thought about it.

As the old badger stood, thinking of the main hall of her former home and of all the meals she had eaten there, a memory from her childhood surfaced.

She had been little then, even younger than Sunflash had been when Swartt captured him, and small enough to still fit under the great table her family ate at. _I used to pretend that the tablecloth was a giant tent_ , Bella remembered.

One day, on the particular day she was thinking of, she had retreated to her tent early on in the morning after spending the entire night awake for…some reason. _Why was I up, again?_

Bella shook her head. _No matter. I guess it’s not important._ Regardless of the _why_ of it, her sleeplessness had caused her to fall asleep under the table long enough for everybeast else to wake up, and she awoke to the sound of clinking plates as Boar ate his breakfast. Bella had tried to stretch the tiredness away, but somehow the movement had caused her paw to slam against her father’s leg.

That had gotten _quite_ the reaction out of the mighty badger. Boar had all but leapt a mile into the air, shouting as he went, and in the process somehow managed to upend the entire table with a massive _crash_. Too stunned by the rapid turn of events to respond, Bella had found herself caught red-pawed and unable to do anything more but blush up at her father.

Thankfully, Boar had taken the whole mishap with good humor. _‘Well now,’_ he’d said as he smiled down at Bella, _‘I thought maybe there was a spider, but it seems that there’s only a little badger cub.’_ At that he’d picked her up and playfully ruffled her fur; Bella swore she could almost feel his mighty paw doing it now. _‘But what’s a badger cub doing under the table this early in the morning? Surely it’s too early to be out on an adventure.’_

Bella had grinned right back. _‘It’s never too early, father! Dragons and monsters don’t wait until the afternoon, do they?’_

Boar had laughed heartily. _‘Is that what I am now? Was that tap I felt the blow of a club, meant to slay the great dragon Boar the Fighter?_ ’

_‘No, I, uh, fell asleep.’_

_‘Under the table? Did you not sleep well last night, my little one?’_

_‘No, father. I dreamed of –’_

“Mother?”

Now it was Bella’s turn to jump in shock, although her reaction wasn’t quite as impressive as her fathers, and when she turned it was only Sunflash.

Like she had all that time ago, Sunflash blushed. “Did I scare you, mother? I’m sorry if I did. I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was remembering times long gone.”

“Was it about grandfather?” Sunflash’s features softened, making him look as gentle as Bella had ever seen him. “Today…today’s the anniversary, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“It’s hard to think that it’s been two years already.” Her son let out a heavy sigh. “If only he were still here…”

Bella could see the sadness in Sunflash’s eyes, the regret that he’d only been able to get to know his grandfather for perhaps a day before the old badger was snatched away from him. _And it’s all my fault. All my fault…_

Still, that regret was hers and hers alone; she wouldn’t burden her son with it, so instead Bella only replied “if only. But as I have said before, my father isn’t, and all we can do is try and forge our own ways forward.”

“I know, I know. It just would be nice to know if I’m doing everything right.” Sunflash shook his head. “Sometimes I still worry I’m making a huge botch of everything, you know? Like that whole affair with Clogg a few years ago.”

_No,_ part of Bella’s mind screamed, _this is my father’s day, don’t make it all about you,_ but Bella took that part and squashed it. It was nothing more than the grief talking, and so it deserved nothing but to be ignored. “He would be very proud of you. One misstep, and one that was quickly corrected at that, doesn’t wash away all the good you’ve done.”

“I suppose…” Unable to look into his mother’s eyes, Sunflash’s gaze searched around the room until it landed on the great carvings of the Badger Lords past. “You know, I’ve still yet to carve something of my own on this wall.”

“Be grateful for that, son – these carvings only come to a badger in the throes of Bloodwrath. That you’ve yet to carve one means that you’ve yet to fall victim to it.”

Sunflash merely grunted before studying the carvings more closely. “These carvings – they all tell the future, no?”

“That’s what the conventional wisdom is, at least. Why?”

“Because there’s something strange.” Sunflash pointed at one of the last carvings with his paw. “This one right here shows grandfather in a giant battle, see?”

“What of it? Boar fought a great many battles.”

“I know, but how many of those had a six-clawed ferret in them?”

“Just the one.” Bella thought she knew what her son was getting at, and it wasn’t a surprise; from what she’d gleaned from talking with the Long Patrol officers, her father had almost seemed to be expecting his death when they marched out against Swartt. “Do you find it strange that he predicted his own passing?”

“No, not really. But what I _do_ find strange is the carving directly after it.”

“Why? Which one’s that?”

“This one here. See what it shows?”

Bella looked over. “A wildcat and a mouse dueling? Father always assumed that it was the battle between Verdauga and Martin’s father.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense It’s too late.”

“Oh?”

“Count how many carvings are after it.”

Bella did. “There’s one, two… only two.” She blinked. _What? But their duel was nearly twenty years ago._ “That’s odd.” _Why would there be so many carvings made over the course of such a short span of time, but only two in the years following it?_

She posed the question to Sunflash, who closed his eyes and thought about it. “Perhaps grandfather was able to tame his Bloodwrath? That might explain why he was able to go so long without writing anything.”

“Perhaps…” Bella studied the carvings more closely. “But that doesn’t explain why a carving of an event that happened almost twenty years ago would succeed one that happened _two_ years ago.”

Bella heard a rush of air and some shuffling, and turned to see that Sunflash had stood up. “Is something the matter?” She asked him.

“I – I think I may have just realized something.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I don’t want to darken this day even further.” Sunflash knelt and gave his mother a hug. “I’m sorry that I hijacked your mourning, mother. It was selfish of me.” And then he stood up before turning and leaving without another word.

Bella turned back to the strange carving, confused. _What was THAT all about? Was I missing something?_ She began to think about it, pacing the room and looking at the other carvings and prophecies, trying to glean some clue.

It was the history of the mountain, its battles and feasts, good days and bad, and on any day but today Bella would have loved to just sit and study the stories of her forebearers and the other great Badger Lords.

_I see the history, but all I’m finding is a bunch of old stories._ Her gaze dropped to the last carving of Stonepaw, which showed his drowning during the fight against the wildcat Ungatt Trunn and the subsequent ascension of Lord Brocktree. _I wonder if that’s something all the Badger Lords do, record their own deaths._ It was a disturbing thought, and the image of Sunflash one day recording his own demise made Bella shiver. To take her mind off it she turned to Brocktree’s first carving, which showed the way in which he created the orchards and terraces that were still keeping the mountain fed in her time, and to the carving after it, which showed a battle against some searats. After that was another battle, and then another, and then after that was one showing Boar’s arrival. There was something there, that was for sure, but what exactly it was Bella was unable to put her paw on it…

_Oh._ The realization came to her suddenly. _They’re all in order – each carving happened after the one before it, without exception._ A tendril of ice snuck into her chest and clamped around it. _And if we run with this assumption and look back at my father’s carvings, then that means…_

The meaning was as clear as day. _Is this my fault, too?_ It was ridiculous to even consider to be sure, yet at the same time Bella couldn’t help it – she’d tired to play a mother of sorts to all three of the Greeneyes children, after all, and if they came to blows what did that reflect but her own failings?

Was there something she could have done? Some words she could have said that could have stopped Tsarmina from turning into the monster she had? There _must_ have been something, some way Bella could have gotten through to her. _But what would that have been? What could I have done?_

Looking back at the carving and thinking both of what it showed and of the creature that carved it was too much for Bella to stand. She got to her paws and stepped out of the forge, leaning against the wall before beginning to make the long journey back down the great staircase.

Carved at intervals on the staircase were a number of wide windows that looked out at the ocean, and on warm days like this it was customary to just let the wind from the sea blow in and cool the mountain. Normally Bella found the quiet whistle to be rather comforting, but today it seemed nothing but a rebuke.

_Failure…failure…failure…_

“SHUT UP!” Bella slammed a paw against the rocky mountainside, the action sending painful jolts up her right arm. _This is the same arm that thrust that spear into my father’s neck._ A little pain was, truthfully, far less than she deserved.

Bella sobbed, not knowing whether it was for her father or any of her other failures, and then suddenly Sunflash stood above her.

The son hugged the mother tightly. “It’s not your fault, mother.” He whispered. “It’s not your fault. Not at all.”

_~Autumn~_

“So like I was saying, my lord, it’s not right that Crich’s property extends that close to the creek. My family’s fished out of that bit for generations, and so if he were to build so closely we would be able to anymore.”

Gingivere suppressed a yawn and resisted the urge to start fidgeting. Listening to the problems of the creatures that lived in Mossflower was important, after all, and by traveling out to the settlements and meeting them there he could show that the Greeneyes family truly did care about what went on beyond the walls of Kotir.

If only it didn’t require passing judgement from atop a stump as _impossibly uncomfortable as this one was._ The blasted thing seemed to have little spikes in all the places to cause the most pain imaginable, to the point that Gingivere had nearly sworn a most unlordly string of curses upon sitting down on top of it.

As he surveyed the mixed assortment of Woodlanders gathered around him, Gingivere wondered which one of them had taken this particular tree for their fireplace. _I hope you get PLENTY of warmth from it. That, or it’s so wet that you can’t use it until you all freeze._

Gingivere forced himself back to the matter at hand; it was a relatively simply property dispute, all things considered, and as such he hoped that he would be able to reach a judgement soon enough.

“How close, if I may ask?”

“So close that his fence would stop me fishing completely.”

Gingivere turned away from the mouse and looked at the offending neighbor, a young weasel. “Is this the truth?”

“Aye, my lord. I need it that close, see, for the vegetable patches.”

“Well, couldn’t you just go without the fence?”

“Are you _insane_ , mouse? Don’t you know how many little ones would run in and out and steal everything? I’d be ruined!”

“Oh, come now – we’re not a bunch of thieving vermin like most of you lot!”

“Most of _my lot?!_ What do you mean by that?”

Gingivere cleared his throat as loudly as he could, trying to stop the argument before it got out of paw. “Both of you, hold your tongues. I agree that a fence is necessary –”

“So you’re on my side, then? This mouse’s got his tail in a twist over nothing?”

“I wasn’t finished.” Gingivere glared the weasel into silence before continuing. “However, I also agree that it is unfair that a mouse should be cut off from a creek his family has fished for some years. The mouse started to speak, but Gingivere cut him off with a raised paw. “Assuming, of course, that your family truly _has_.”

Scanning the crowd, Gingivere noticed an older mole. “You there. Ma’am.”

“Υοu’m talking to oi, m’lord?”

“I am indeed. May I trouble you with a few questions?”

“Burr aye, m’lord. What’m yon be arsken?”

“First off, how long have you lived around here?”

“Oi whole life.”

“Excellent. Have you been acquainted with this mouse’s family for any of that time?”

“Burr aye. Oi’ve known ‘em for years ‘n years. Oi used ter ‘ave Nick’s nuncle ‘round for tea.”

“And have they fished in this creek all the time you’ve known them?” The mole nodded. “Alright, then. Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am.”

Gingivere closed his eyes and considered everything. _What to do, what to do…_ He tried to picture the little fishing structures that the otters had made up and down the River Moss, and in his head tried to adjust the picture a bit to account for the differing needs of a mouse. _So then maybe if I set it there…no, the boundary of Crich’s yard will be too small for HIS needs…unless…_

“Crich, are you too far along in the process to move your land claim forwards a tad?”

“No, my lord, not at all.” The weasel seemed confused. “Haven’t even placed all the boundary stones.

_Good, good. So then with that in mind, considering where the dirt path was…_

Gingivere rose to his paws. “I have made my decision.” He looked first at the mouse. “Goodman Nick, I recognize the claim that your family has to that stretch of the creek and confirm it – at least, I confirm a portion of it.” Next, he turned to the weasel. “Specifically, I confirm ten paces by the stride of a weasel inwards. Crich, you are not to extend your property past that line. In exchange, you are free to extend the boundary of your property forwards towards the road. In this direction you can go no farther than eight paces by the stride of a weasel. Please set your boundary stones accordingly by dawn tomorrow, at which time they will be confirmed by a member of the Thousand-Eye Army.” Finally, he turned back to the mouse. “In addition, keep in mind that now any damages to Crich’s fence or property – that can be conclusively tied back to your fishing – will require compensation of some sort from you or your kin. Is this acceptable to the both of you?”

“Yes, my lord.” They mouse and weasel answered in unison, carrying identical looks of mixed satisfaction and disappointment.

“Excellent. I hereby pronounce my judgement in the name of Lord Verdauga.” He looked around. “Is there abybeast else that wishes to take a matter before me?”

Gingivere waited about half a minute before nodding. “Very well, then. I declare that this session is at an end.”

At that the assorted creatures gathered began to gradually peel away, until there was nobeast left around the stump save Gingivere.

And one other, who somehow he’d failed to notice during the proceedings.

“Where you here the entire time?”

“More or less?” Sandingomm removed herself from the fencepost she’d been sitting on and made her way towards the other wildcat. “I was walking by about the time that those two voles started insulting each other and couldn’t bring myself to leave.” Her eyebrows raised in amusement. “I have to say, I can’t say I’ve ever heard the phrase ‘may the worms, cancer, and maggots penetrate your arse’ before.”

Gingivere laughed. “That was a new one to me as well. Honestly, I sent them away after that mostly because I didn’t trust myself to keep myself from laughing much longer. Wouldn’t exactly have been very lordly of me to lose it like an immature child in front of everybeast, now would it?”

“Oh, but it’s lordly to lose it in front of a demure maiden like me?” Sandingomm pursed her lips in a mock pout. “I’m offended.”

“Well, then, allow me to make it up to you by offering a walk through Mossflower this fine autumn day.”

“Sure, I’ll bite.”

“Wonderful.”

They were some way down the creek when Sandingomm broke the silence. “Mind if I ask something?”

“Ask away.”

“What was all that ‘paces by the stride of a weasel’ talk about?”

“I couldn’t have just said ‘paces’ and left it at that, could I? That would’ve just started a whole argument about whether I meant paces of a mouse or paces of a weasel or paces of a wildcat. And that would have been a whole other mess, which would have taken more time…”

“Which would have meant more time with you on that stump.” Sandingomm smiled, sending little flutters down Gingivere’s stomach. “Do you have to do something like that every time you set a boundary?”

“More or less. It’s rather annoying, trust me. Especially when somebeast can’t keep their paces even. One time last spring Martin got himself embroiled in a dispute that required one poor squirrel to walk the same ten paces a good fifteen times just to get an accurate measurement.” Martin had gone on about that particular occasion for a solid week, and truth be told Gingivere swore that he still got a bit twitchy when he saw so much as the tail of a squirrel.

(The fact that following that occasion Gingivere had asked his brother to run a good number of errands for Amber and the other archer squirrels as a pure coincidence, of course)

“Why not just get one length and call it good? I think making these boundaries would be a _lot_ easier if you had a standard measurement or something.”

“Sandingomm, we need a standard _everything_. Standard measurements, standard weights, and especially standard laws.” He sighed. “Someday I’ll get the time to do that. I’ll sit down and compile a list of all the unwritten rules and customs we have across the land, along with as many judgements and rulings as I can, and try to get a decent set of laws drawn up. No more verdicts based on the mood of the creature giving them, and no more arbitrary punishments or pardons. Each action will have solid, codified consequences that any creature can look at and have access to. That way we can – what?” He noticed that the other wildcat had begun snickering. “Did I say something funny.”

She shook her head. “No, I was just thinking about how most creatures your age only go on about girls, fighting or food, and here you are talking about making a law code.”

“Well _excuse me_ for caring about a just rule.”

Sandingomm raised her paws. “Hey, did I say it was a bad thing? It’s not, and honestly, I love hearing you talk about it. I like seeing you get all passionate.”

Gingivere had absolutely no idea how to respond to that beyond a simple, stuttered ‘thanks’. _Come on, you idiot, say something! For the love of all that is good don’t just leave it at that, you’ll look like the dumbest cat in the world._

Before he could think of anything, he noticed Martin running towards them, a sight that he thought both a blessing and a bit of a curse.

“Afternoon, Martin!” Sandingomm gave the mouse a quick hug. “I thought Gingivere said that you’d be in training the entire day?”

“I thought so, too.” Martin gave her a smile before turning to his brother. “Whegg came to get me a little bit ago – apparently father wants to know where you are.”

Gingivere frowned. “But I told him that I was going to be out meeting with the Woodlanders, didn’t I? I said it when we had breakfast, I think.”

“You did, I was there. I had to remind him of it during lunch too, now that I think about it.”

_How could he forget the same thing twice in one day? That’s not like father at all._ “Well, I’m all done with the meetings. Do you want to tell him that I’m going for a walk?”

Martin shook his head. “Actually, I think it’s best that you come back to Kotir.” He looked up at Sandingomm. “If that’s fine by you?”

“Don’t worry about it. Gingivere, we can keep walking another time.” She bent down and gave his paw a little kiss. “And maybe by then you’ll think of a response.”

After Gingivere finished waving goodbye he turned back to his brother, and noticed that Martin was shaking a bit. “It’s just a bit of memory loss, Martin. Maybe father was thinking about something else?”

“About what? Nothing’s happened around here that he’d be occupied with. And it’s not like this is the first time he’s forgotten something this simple, is it?”

“He’s…he’s just getting old, that’s all. Sometimes when creatures get old, they get forgetful. Doesn’t mean we need to worry about it.”

“Yet. Worry about it yet. I really don’t like it, Gingivere. I mean, now it’s just little things here and there, but what if it starts to get worse? What if one day he starts to forget the important things?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, father just needs a few reminders every now and again.”

Not wanting to think about it any further, Gingivere and Martin walked back through the autumn afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that these chapters take a while to come out. Balancing a fic with a job is a biiit difficult. Anyway...  
> -Winter:  
> \--Prophecies and dreams of the future are a pretty big part of the Redwall 'verse, so it's about time that I try my hand at it. Just hope I'm not giving everything away.  
> \--Poor Gonff. I'm sure that an old wildcat in his bedclothes is not exactly the best sight one can see.  
> -Spring:  
> \--I'm not really intending for Peony to be any major character or anything - I just needed an extra person for Gonff to interact with, and thought she'd do nicely.   
> \--Now as for the nature of Mossflower's relations with Southsward - since here the Greeneyes are setting up more of a proto-state than they did in canon, to me it just makes sense that they'd engage in a bit of diplomacy. Southsward and Mossflower aren't particularly linked, although I imagine they've known about each other for some time, and this is probably the first sort of 'embassy' they've exchanged.  
> \---Sorry. I'm a polisci nerd.   
> -Summer:  
> \--Bella's guilt over being forced to kill her father is something that I'd like to explore more whenever I get around to making the full-on sequel. There's not space for it here due to the way I'm structuring this fic, but it's an angle I'd like to get back to at some point.  
> \--Look, more heavy-handed foreshadowing. Not that it was anything but a foregone conclusion, IMO.  
> -Autumn:  
> \--Apologies for the stilted and awkward nature of Gingivere and Sandingomm's flirting. It's half intentional and half because romantic dialogue is mostly uncharted territory for me.  
> \--Why yes, I am making Gingivere into a fellow Polisci nerd. I won't go on any filibusters or subject you all to a list of laws, I promise.  
> Although I may draw one up for personal use. Just for the hell of it.


	3. Clouds on the Horizon

_~Winter~_

The mice had made themselves a nice enough winter feast: roasted apples spiced with nutmeg surrounded some of the last bread from the year’s harvest, and to wash it down there was a fine cask of cider obtained from a passing caravan, the smell making everybeast’s mouth water.

A pity that the smell carried outside of their hut and right to the nose of a wildcat hungry and unscrupulous enough to take it as an invitation.

Tsarmina crept towards the hut as slowly as she could bear, not wanting to raise any sort of alarm and ruin everything, and after the longest few minutes in her life she arrived just outside the door.

For the first time in a _long_ time, Tsarmina allowed herself to smile. _My first meal in days._

_Still, best not be too hasty._ Perhaps there were only a few creatures inside, easy pickings, but perhaps there were many. Perhaps they were well-armed, perhaps not at all. _I must know before I strike. I won’t make that mistake again._

It had been hard going, at first; cut off from Kotir and its bountiful larder and without any simpletons to gather her food for her, Tsarmina had been forced to lower herself to the level of a common bandit. It had made her fur crawl at first, but Tsarmina soon found it was necessary.

That had been two years ago. Now, she took all she desired that she could get her paws on. The trick was to be careful, not bite off more than she could chew, and, most importantly, to keep moving lest she end up on the end of a rope. So, to make sure that this didn’t happen, Tsarmina slowly peered up through the window.

_A family of…mice. Mice. Dirty little mice, arrogant little mice who steal what by rights belongs to their betters._ Tsarmina’s smile turned into a savage grin: not only would she get to eat, but she would also get the chance to speed a few mice straight to the hellgates.

Tsarmina bashed the door open.

The father turned suddenly, unsure of what to do. “Can we help you, miss?”

Tsarmina just stood in the doorway, a chill wind at her back, leering savagely. _Oh, you can help me, alright. You can help me better than you know…_

The father motioned for the rest of the family to get behind him. “If it’s a bit of food you want, I’m sorry but we – we don’t really have much extra to spare. There’s plenty of room by the fire, though.” He raised his paws. “I don’t want any trouble, now, but you’re welcome to stay a bit and get warm.”

Rather than answering him, Tsarmina lunged and grabbed the father before anybeast could react. As the rest of his family screamed, she lifted him into the air, paws clenched tight around his throat. “You don’t want any trouble now, you said? Well, unfortunately for you, I _do_ want trouble.”

Paws struggling feebly against the wildcat’s grip, the father struggled to breath. “P… _please…_ w-w-we don’t h…have anything…no…val-valuables…”

“Oh, mousey, you’d be dead even if you did.” Tsarmina twisted her paws hard enough to snap the mouse’s neck before flinging him to the ground in front of his wife. She began to scream, a single, unending noise so loud that Tsarmina was sure her ears were about to bleed. “Shut the fuck up, woman. Nobeast cares.”

Tsarmina growled at the mouse, but instead of holding her tongue like a good little fool she kept screaming, so Tsarmina decided to shut her up personally. A few slashes to the face, and she fell nice and silent.

All that was left were three little ones, each too stunned to make so much as a peep. Tsarmina grabbed the oldest and threw her against the wall so hard that her head tilted downwards a good ninety degrees before grabbing another mouselet and slamming them against the floor, and then turned towards the last survivor as she flicked little bits of mouse off her paw. _Ugh. Disgusting creatures inside AND out._

The attack had happened so fast that it hadn’t even sunk in yet that the little mouse was the last living member of his family. When it finally did, the little mouse began to scream just as loudly as his mother had.

The sound of it made Tsarmina regret leaving him alive for even a moment. “Did you not hear what I told your mother? _Shut. Up._ ” Unless, of course, you _want_ to wind up like them.

The mouse looked over at his murdered family. A second later his screams ended, although tears continued to drip silently down his face. “W…w… _why?_ ” He sniffled. “We said we’d give you food, so why did you…”

“You want to know why? Truly?” Tsarmina stabbed a fork into the bread, irritated at having to use something made for paws so much smaller than her own. “I suppose you could say it’s because out there in the wide world it’s kill or be killed, or because I’ve got a lot of pent up anger I need to work out.” Tsarmina gave the bread another _stab_. “But neither of those would be accurate: Truth is, I killed everybeast here because, when you get down to it, _I really hate mice._ ”

She’d debated letting the little furball live as a warning to others in the area, but his sniveling and crying reminded her far too much of how Martin had acted whenever she’d bullied him as a child, so in the end Tsarmina decided that he needed to die as well.

_Least I’ll make it quick for you, I suppose._ Tsarmina glanced around, her eyes settling on a fairly large and sharp knife. _That’ll do nicely, I suppose._ In one fluid movement she grabbed it before hurling it at the mouse, who was still standing there bawling his eye out.

The knife landed point-in, right in the middle of the head of its’ target. The mouse gave a start, shuddered, and toppled to the floor.

Tsarmina took another slice of the bread, surveying her handiwork. _If only Martin would die as easily._ It would mean no more scraping around like a common bandit, no more having to sleep in caves or shacks far beneath her station. _A warm bed, a full belly, and all the creatures to command I could desire. And all I have to do is kill my so-called family._

She laughed over her food. _Aye. Them and the entire army. Like there’s any way I can do that._

Tsarmina’s ears twitched as she heard something faint off in the distance. It was the sound of paws crunching up through the snow, getting closer and closer. _Fuck. Was there some other mouse in the family I didn’t know about._ Tsarmina’s grip on her knife tightened. _Well, if there was, I’ll deal with them one way or another._

It was not a mouse who came through the doorway, but a rat. He took one look at her before raising his spear. “I wouldn’t get any funny ideas with that knife, cat. So drop it, before I decide to give you a poke.”

There would have been a time when Tsarmina would have attacked any creature that dared speak to her like that, but that time was long past. So, swallowing her pride, she dropped the knife. “Satisfied?”

“For the moment.” The rat studied the scene. “This all your doing?”

“Yes.”

The rat nodded before turning his head a fraction. “OI, AGGAL! COME OVER HERE! FOUND SOMETHING INTERESTING!”

Soon a massive stoat appeared, who also brandished a spear at her. “Well, well, well? What have we here?”

“A mighty fine fighter, by the looks of it. Killed an entire family without getting so much as a scratch.”

Aggal snorted. “Killing three children and their parents doesn’t make a ‘mighty fine fighter’, idiot. Look at her – completely unarmed.”

“Still, I think Swartt’ll want to see her.”

_Swartt?_ Tsarmina thought that name sounded familiar for some reason. _Some name I overheard in the dungeon, maybe._

***

Paws bound Tsarmina was soon being paraded through a medium-sized horde of bandits, choking on the indignity all the while, until her captors came to a stop in front of another ferret. This one was leaner but just as muscled as Aggal, and possessed some of the hardest, cruelest eyes Tsarmina had ever seen on another creature.

One of his paws also had six claws, she noticed. _Now that’s even MORE familiar…_

Swartt looked her over. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, wench?”

_Does…does he know who I am?_ “Never seen a wildcat before? We roam where we please.”

“As a matter of fact, I _have_ seen one or two. Swartt raised his six-clawed paw and pointed at Tsarmina’s face. “And know what I find interesting? They both had the same sort of eyes as you: bright green. Unless, of course, you wish to tell me that _most_ wildcats have eyes like that?”

_Ah. THAT’S who this is._ “No, just me and my kin. I suppose I ought to be impressed that you figured that out, but I’d expect nothing else from the ferret that killed Boar the Fighter.”

Swartt smiled. “You speak as though I was the one to put the lance through his throat.”

Tsarmina shrugged. “You came up with the plan, didn’t you? Close enough, in my book.”

“Um, boss?” Aggal piped up, confused. “Who is this?”

Swartt gave his captain a look before sighing. “You really haven’t figured it out yet, idiot? We stand in the presence of the mighty Tsarmina Greeneyes, daughter of Lord Verdauga and heir to Kotir.”

A dozen spears immediately lowered towards the prisoner. Tsarmina fought back a sudden jolt of fear. “Allow me to amend that. Tsarmina Greeneyes, _exiled_ daughter of Lord Verdauga. I haven’t been to Kotir in two years.”

Swartt raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? I suppose that would explain why we caught you killing farmers. We’d heard a few rumors that you’d been cast out, but I must say I didn’t know what to think about them.”

“What did you hear, exactly?”

“That you enslaved all of Mossflower after burning it down, taking hedgehogs and skinning them alive to make a cloak.” He chuckled. “Not that I believe the last one; far too pointy material, in my opinion.”

“That part is false, at least. As for the slaving and burning, that’s true, mostly. Although I wouldn’t call it _slavery_.”

“Oh? What would you call it?”

“A Queen enforcing her rule on the lesser. And what of you?” Tsarmina looked around at all the spears. “I’m assuming that _you_ have some issue with Mossflower?”

Swartt’s paws clenched. “Oh, more than that. Your damned father stole my best slave.”

_Hmmm… I can use this…_ “And now you have me. May I ask what your plans were?”

“Well, I’d normally consider ransoming you, but it seems that ol’ Verdauga wouldn’t care too much. Perhaps I should make you a slave in Scumstripe’s place.”

Tsarmina decided she quite liked this Swartt character. “You could, but I have a better idea.”

“Being…” Swartt reclined in his chair, curious.

“My father stole your slave, and my birthright. Why not work together and reclaim what was stolen?”

“Risk my entire horde for that? A bit much, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. But what if I told you that by attacking Kotir you could also get your wife back?” _That_ had been a bit of juicy gossip to learn while she was still a prisoner.

“ _Bluefen?_ You’d better not be lying to me, Tsarmina.”

Tsarmina could see the lust in Swartt’s eyes. _I have him_. “It’s the truth. Seems your missing wife has settled down with an otter. Help restore me to my rightful place as ruler of Mossflower, and you’ll have her back.”

Swartt closed his eyes, trying to disguise the mad desire that had taken hold. “Aggal, untie our guest. We have much to discuss.”

_~Spring~_

The weather was annoyingly nice out; it was just the perfect temperature to laze out on the beach and get tickled by a gentle wind, gazing up at the nearly-cloudless sky while listening to the soothing crash of the waves. In short it was the perfect spring day, but where was Lupin? Sitting in her ruddy office doing paperwork. While most days she was still proud that Sunflash and the rest of the Long Patrol had seen fit to bestow command of the military on her, on days like this Lupin really, _really_ wished she could go back in time and turn the promotion down.

Even if it required her to run screaming into the forest or something.

Still, no sense crying over spilled milk, her mother had always said. Wishing that she’d never been made Captain wouldn’t change the fact that she was, and so there was nothing to do but buckle down at fill out the blasted ledgers.

Lupin picked up a receipt from the recent metal purchase, and began to try and figure out how many spears they could make. _Let’s see here… it says we bought eight hundredweights of iron, and it takes the smiths about a pound to make a single spearhead, so that means we have enough metal to make…_

_Uh…_

_A hundredweight’s a little more’n a hundred pounds, right? It’s a hundred and ten? Hundred and twenty? Maybe?_

Lupin leaned back in her chair and groaned. _I really hate doing bloody sums._ She’d never been all that good at it, and normally she just fobbed off all the hard calculations to Bella, but with the badger off in Mossflower to visit the Greeneyes that wasn’t an option at the moment. _Wonder if Lord Sunflash’s any good at this._

Lupin shook her head. _No. You’re the commander. YOU need to do them. Figure it out: how many pounds are in the blooming hundredweight? THINK!_

For some reason, 112 seemed to be the right number. If that was true, and she divided that by 16…

_Right. Seven spears per hundredweight. We bought eight, so that means we can make four-and-fifty? Thereabouts?_

Before she could double-check the math somebeast knocked on the door. “Enter.” Lupin called out, relieved to have the distraction.

The door swung open with a crash and in strode a young hare by the name of Honeydew, a recent addition to the Long Patrol. She walked over to Lupin’s desk before saluting and standing at attention, her eyes drifting downwards to the receipt. “Good afternoon, ma’am!”

“At ease, Honeydew.” Lupin pushed her paper off to the side and pulled an empty sheet out. “I presume you’re here for the daily report?”

“Aye, ma’am, but…” the young hare’s eyes flicked over to the receipt again. “First, I think I need to ask something; y’know the math’s wrong, don’t you? You’ve enough metal for fifty-six spears, not fifty-eight.”

Lupin looked back at the paper, did the math again, and groaned. “Oh, dash it all.” Grabbing her quill the older hare grabbed the paper and began to furiously scratch out her mistake. “Ah well, least we caught it before I sent this down to the forge. Would’ve Balley embarrassing if Sunflash’d caught me making that goof.” Her corrections finished Lupin placed the receipt off to the side once more and got ready to make some notes. “But anyways: any news I should hear?”

“Nothing’s going on nearby, thankfully. Skarlath n’ his friends just came back from their morning rounds, and the kestrel says he saw absolutely no sign of anybeast sailing the waters for a good bit out, be they merchant or corsair.”

Lupin nodded. “Good, though I suppose it’s a bad sign that there aren’t even any merchant ships nearby.”

“There was that blasted storm three nights ago, remember? Traders are probably too scared after that gale to hoist anchor, I’d wager.”

“Maybe. Make sure to keep me informed as to whether or not any show up over the next few days. If not, we might be in for a spot of trouble.”

“Will do, ma’am. Things are also quiet on shore and in town. Even the tavern didn’t have any brawls to report.” Honeydew smiled. “Least, nothing worse than the normal for taverns, anyhoo. Mossflower’s been pretty quiet as well, from what we’re gathering. There was a scuffle with some rogues out of the south a little of the way through the winter, but Amber’s lot turned them back all quicklike.”

“So quiet all around, then?” Lupin allowed herself to smile. “By jove, I’m glad we’re still peaceful. Still don’t think we’ve recovered from the Swartt debacle, in all honesty.”

At the mention of the name _Swartt_ Honeydew’s smile immediately died. A sudden sinking feeling settled in Lupin’s stomach, and she stopped writing. “You said ‘nothing’s going on nearby’, didn’t you? Please don’t tell me…”

Honeydew shifted her paws, biting her lip. “Well, it’s nothing _confirmed,_ ma’am, and even if it’s true he’s nowhere around here, but…” Honeydew took a deep breath and calmed herself before speaking. “A couple of whispers are floating around town, and a few more came back from Skarlath’s patrol. Supposedly the bastard was sighted this past winter to the far north of here, by the Broadstream. There was a little village there, and when a stoat went to check on a family of mice living a little ways outside, he found ‘em all dead.” The hare was as white as a snowdrift. “Five mice, parents and three little ones. All butchered by some madbeast. He was about to run back for help when he heard a bunch of vermin just outside, and leading them was a ferret with a six-clawed paw.”

“Think this is just a rumor?” Sunflash would want to know immediately, but Lupin wanted to be absolutely sure before the badger ran off chasing shadows.

“I doubt it, ma’am. A six-clawed paw’s a balley distinctive thing to add.”

“I understand.” Lupin finished recording the report and stood up. “Come with me – we need to tell Sunflash immediately.”

Lupin was halfway out the door before she realized that Honeydew had remained glued to her spot. “Don’t tell me there’s something else?”

“There was a wildcat too, apparently.” Honeydew spit the words out, as though unable to hold them in. “Can’t say for certain, but I think it might have been… _her._ ”

Lupin took the words in and considered both the ramifications and the likelihood of Swartt and Tsarmina joining forces, fighting to keep the emotions from showing. “Well, then we’d best get to Sunflash as fast as we can.”

***

While Honeydew gave Sunflash the report, Lupin studied the badger, curious about how he’d react. Throughout the entirety he sat with his eyes closed, listening, the only sign he was even awake being the paws gripping his throne so hard that Lupin half thought the stone would shatter. Honeydew finished, and the two hares waited for their lord’s response.

The phrase ‘kill every last one of them’ echoed back through Lupin’s head. _Must Bella talk her son down again?_

When Sunflash’s eyes finally opened, Lupin was thankful to see little of the rage and bloodlust that had lurked there in the past. “This is…grievous news. Most grievous. I had begun to hope that perhaps Swartt had perished, but it seems that was a fools’ hope.” He sighed. “And if Tsarmina’s joined forces with him, then the two vilest creatures in the world have joined together.” Another sigh, followed by a snort. “I imagine it’s too much to hope that they kill each other?”

The two hares exchanged looks, unsure of how to react. “Probably. The world’s rarely so kind.”

“I know, Lupin. It was a joke. A poorly-timed one, I suppose.” Sunflash looked down at Honeydew. “You mentioned the Broadstream. Have there been any sightings of them in other places?”

“No, m’lord.”

“Then they’re not like to have marched south. Not too far south of that’s where that Whitear fellow and his band live, and had Swartt passed by we or Mossflower would’ve gotten a messenger by now.” Sunflash closed his eyes again, thinking. “The Broadstream empties out into the Eastern coast, correct?”

“I believe so? Can’t be completely sure – it’s hard as all get-out to get concrete information from that far north, donchaknow.”

“Then they marched northwest. I’m sure of it.” Sunflash opened his eyes. “With Tsarmina joined to him, there’s no chance that Swartt will have crossed straight north, and there’s nothing downriver for him. They went up, following upstream towards the Northlands.”

“Do you want us to prepare a regiment? Send a messenger to Mossflower?”

To Lupin’s amazement, Sunflash shook his head no.

“Too risky. This news is too old and too far traveled. To chase a shadow halfway across the world is folly.” Sunflash rose and walked down to Honeydew. “Still, best take _some_ precautions. Honeydew, tell the rest of the border patrol that they are to step up their watch on the north, and tell the stewards to set aside more food to trade. We may have need of more weapons.”

“Aye, lord Sunflash.” Honeydew saluted and left, walking as quickly as she could.

Only then did Sunflash turn his attention back to Lupin. “You’re surprised, aren’t you?”

Lupin nodded, not sure how else to respond. “Well, my lord, if we’re being truthful, I am. I full expected you’d order us to set out after the rotters before we’d even have supper tonight.”

“Well, as I said, I’m not about to send the army up to the Northlands without something more concrete to go on. That’s too much of a gamble.”

“All due respect, but that never stopped you in the past.”

Sunflash looked at her. “You’re referring to Clogg?”

“I am. You were all for going after him, and Swartt’s your blooming archenemy, so I assumed you’d be a tad more…belligerent.”

“Come now, Lupin. You should know I’m at least a _little_ more mature than I was back then. I’d barely even settled in as Badger Lord, you know.” Paws clenched, Sunflash looked at the ground. “Don’t get me wrong – the sight of Swartt’s head on a spike would still be a delight to see. I just have more important things to worry about. If Swartt and Tsarmina dare come anywhere near Salamandastron or Mossflower I’ll order the Long Patrol after them, make no mistake, but only then.”

“I see.” Lupin counted herself impressed: the Sunflash that had first come to Salamandastron had been nowhere near as patient and pragmatic, and Lupin realized that her Lord had changed without her noticing. It was a nice sight to see. “Although, if it’s fine with you, I still think we ought to let old Verdauga know. He’s probably just as likely to be under threat as we are.”

“Oh, no doubt. Tsarmina’s his daughter, after all, and I’m sure she’ll want revenge against him for exiling her.” Sunflash laughed, an unexpected noise that made Lupin do a double-take.

“Um…did I miss something? I don’t see how this is funny…”

Shaking his head, Sunflash waved a paw. “It’s not, you’re right. Sorry about that. I was just thinking – here we are, talking about war against a creature I once hoped I could woo.”

That _completely_ threw Lupin for a loop. “What. What? _WHAT?_ We – we _are_ still talking about Tsarmina and Swartt?”

“Oh, we are. Believe it or not, I, ah, used to be rather smitten with Tsarmina. It’s actually the entire reason I was captured. I wanted to get her a bouquet of flowers and wandered a smidgeon too far from Brockhall.” He grinned, sheepishly. “I don’t know what’s worse – that I got myself enslaved over something so mundane, or that I wanted to romance a creature like Tsarmina Greeneyes.”

Her mind completely shot, all Lupin could say was “you were young. Everybeast makes mistakes.”

“Fair enough. Now, tell me: how many spears can we make? I feel we may need a great many soon.”

_~Summer~_

Four ranks of archers stood out in the sweltering summer sun, bows at the ready, arrows in the ground. Amber walked from the first rank over to the target, made a few minute adjustments, and stepped off to the side. Turning to address the archers she cleared her throat and began to speak.

“Archery is a skill that is at once easy to get the basics of, but hard to reach any real mastery of. Oftentimes, in battle the basics are more than enough; when we have the numbers, so long as we’re orderly and efficient in our firing it doesn’t matter if a shot’s picture-perfect or not. Never forget the Agin massacre, where an elite squad of Long Patrol hares were defeated by a horde of drunken bandits because of the sheer number of arrows flying through the air.

“All of you have the basics down, be you recent recruits or veterans, so you may be asking yourselves: ‘but Captain-General, why do we still need to practice this hard?’ Well, the answer is a simple one – we won’t always have the overwhelming advantage. It could be that sometime there’s only, say, ten of us versus ten opponents, and in that case the normal ‘bury them in a hail of arrows’ strategy won’t exactly work. So then what? How do archers keep themselves alive?”

Amber walked in front of the first rank before dropping an arrow from her own quiver into the ground and unslinging her bow. “Simple: speed and accuracy.”

Amber notched her arrow. _One, two._

Taking aim, she drew the string back. _Three, four._

She fired, sending the arrow flying into the center of the target with a heavy _thunk_. _Five, six._

Grabbing another arrow she repeated the action, landing a few hair lengths to the right after another six seconds.

From somewhere behind her, Amber heard a whistle. “ _By the fur._ ” Somebeast whispered.

Allowing herself a smile of satisfaction, Amber stepped back to her position next to the target. “Obviously, I’m not expecting you all to leave here today shooting ten arrows per minute and hitting dead-center, but the principle will be the same: you will need to shoot quickly, but also shoot accurately. When caught without the numbers to overwhelm the opponent, both are essential.” Amber stepped away from the target and over to a large sack she had brought out with her, and opened it with a flourish to reveal a large spread of spiced trout and baked apples. “At the end of today, the rank with the best speed-to-accuracy rate will win this as their dinner.” She smirked. “The rest of you will have to content yourselves with the regular fare – leftover stew, if I’m remembering Detta correctly.” Amber tied up the sack and slung it over her shoulder before climbing to her perch on a tree. “One more thing: anybeast who cheats will spend dinner cleaning the kitchen pots, regardless of which rank they were in. Do I make myself clear?”

“ _Yes, Captain General!_ ” A number of voices answered from below.

“Good. We’ll start with a few practice rounds, to help everybeast limber up and get a feel for the bow. First rank, _FORWARD!_ ”

As each rank stepped forwards and shot Amber took note of where improvement was needed, shouting instructions and occasionally stopping them all wholesale for a demonstration. By the time midday rolled around the heat was almost unbearable and the smell of sweat was beginning to get so bad that Amber could smell it a good ten feet up the tree, so she called a half-hour break and sent a few onlookers in to grab some water from the kitchens. The appearance of several tubs full of it was met with cheers so loud that it was almost as though the archers had one an actual battle, after which everybeast out in the yard all but dove in with their cups and began drinking.

Amber stood off to the side, leaning against a tree as she studied the others over the rim of her own cup. _This has got to be some of the coolest water I’ve ever tasted._

“You know, I was beginning to wonder if you’d actually let us stop, or if you wanted us to work through the heat as some type of evil lesson.”

Amber paused drinking long enough to smirk at the rat walking towards her. “Perhaps I was, Whegg. An army needs to know how to fight in the heat, do they not?” She shook her head. “You don’t honestly think I’d be that cruel to fight you all stand out in the heat without refreshment, would you? That’d just make you all keel over from overheating.” Amber took another sip of water before taking another look around to confirm that everybeast had gotten at least a little to drink. “I’m not Tsarmina.”

Whegg made a derisve noise upon hearing the wildcat’s name. “Thank the stars above for that. Say, has there been any news about said walking ball of depravity?”

Amber shook her head. “No, not since spring, After that report from Salamandastron Skarlath got another message saying that the hares in the northern mountains had fought a wildcat, but since then we’ve heard nothing.” Sighing, Amber sat down on the grass. “I suppose we should be thankful for that, no news is good news and all.”

“That why you’ve been having us go all in on getting us faster like this?”

“Aye. We need to be prepared for whenever she and Swartt strike.”

Whegg sat down next to her. “You know, that’s what I really don’t get about all this; why haven’t they attacked us yet? It’s been at least half a year since they joined up, hasn’t it? We both know that Tsarmina’s got the patience of a gnat and enough bloodlust to make badgers in the middle of Bloodwrath pause, so why hasn’t she shown herself yet? I’d’ve figured that she’d come banging on Kotir’s doors with Swartt’s army at the first opportunity.”

Amber had been wondering about that as well and had no more of an answer. _Normally I’d think that maybe Swartt’s restraining her ambition somehow but considering that attack of his after Mask stole Sunflash I’m not convinced that he wouldn’t be all for coming down here as well. It really is a puzzle._

Amber looked around as if the knowledge could be gleaned from a passing cloud or looking at the right stone, but instead of finding a solution to their Tsarmina puzzle all she noticed was another onlooker. “Well, I can’t say I have any idea, but perhaps Martin will.” Standing up, Amber waved over at the mouse watching them from the battlements, beckoning him to come down. Martin noticed her and waved back before descending down a nearby flight of stairs.

When Martin had reached them Amber gave a little bow. “Come to watch us train?”

“More like pick the next victim of a sparring session, I’d wager.” Whegg’s salute was, as always, a bit too sarcastic for Amber’s tastes, although she knew that Martin didn’t mind in the slightest. “Please don’t make it me, my lord – Amber here’s got us shooting so many arrows that I’ve got a round dozen blisters on my paws.”

Martin laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to interrupt your fun or anything. I just needed to get some air and happened to hear all the shouting a few minutes ago, so I came to see what it was.” His eyes drifted over to the practice field. “Although, if it’s alright with you I’d like to watch for a bit whenever you all start up again.”

Amber smiled. “Fine by me, as long as –”

“As long as you do us a favor, first.” Whegg cut in. “Namely, telling us whether or not there’s any news of your sister that your father hasn’t bothered to – oof!”

Amber elbowed the rat right in the stomach, sending him to the ground. “Oh, shut it, will you? Sorry about that, Martin. Of course you’re free to stay, news or no news about your sister.” She looked at him. “But _have_ you heard anything new, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t mind at all, but I promise you that there isn’t anything we’re keeping secret. Everything we know about Tsarmina’s movements comes from those two reports, unfortunately.” Martin sighed. “If only we _did_ know more.”

Whegg stumbled onto his paws again, but before he could speak Amber laid a paw of her own over his mouth. “Right, instead of running your mouth again, why don’t you go make yourself useful and go reset all the practice targets?”

Knowing better than to protest, Whegg nodded and turned to jog away.

“Honestly, you’d think that that rat would’ve learned a bit more decorum by now.” Amber playfully shook a finger at Martin. “I suppose it’s your fault for letting him always run his mouth. Still, he really should know better than to give you that much lip all the time.”

Martin shrugged. “We’ve talked it over. He knows to rein himself in when we’re around other creatures, don’t worry about that. And besides, I find him a bit refreshing sometimes. It’s nice to know somebeast that doesn’t even pretend to worship the ground you walk on.”

“Is that why you and Gonff get along so well?”

That earned a chuckle. “Probably, much as it drives my father up the wall.”

Upon mentioning Lord Verdauga a sort of melancholy seemed to settle in Martin’s eyes, Amber noticed immediately. “Oh, does it now? Anything do that lately?”

“Thankfully not. At least, no incidents involving Gonff. Mostly it’s just been the fact that his hip’s getting to the point he can’t even walk anymore.” Martin shook his head. “The way things are going, we might have to move his bed to the audience chamber or have him start calling on guests in his bedroom, and if we’re being honest, I’m not sure either of those are good ideas. Especially with…” He trailed off.

Amber decided to probe a bit more, curious despite herself. “Especially with?”

Martin looked at her, obviously trying to decide as to whether or not he wanted to speak, and in the end a few moments passed before he decided to. “You remember how last autumn my father began to forget little things here and there a lot more? Like me and Gingivere’s plans for the day and things like that? Well, it’s…it’s starting to get more and more frequent. And worse, too – a few days ago, he – he – he actually asked where Tsarmina was.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just wondering the same things we’ve all been?”

“It wasn’t that. It was more like he thought she was still in Kotir, like he expected her to just walk in the door.”

_Oh. Well, THAT’s certainly not good._ “I’m…sorry, Martin. Really sorry. I – I didn’t know.” Amber looked at the mouse standing across from her, who suddenly looked like a scared little kid. “Is there anything I can do?”

Martin laughed, a short, bitter laugh devoid of mirth. “Can you fix his memory and help him walk again?”

“If only I could. How are you and your brother coping with it?”

“I’m doing well enough, I suppose. I try to spend as many good days with him as I can. Gingivere’s taking a bit harder, though, and I think it’s why he spends as much time down in Moss Town and with Sandingomm as he does. I don’t think he’s really ready to face the fact that our father…that he’s…that he might…”

Before Martin could finish, Amber grabbed his paw and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I understand. I won’t make you finish that sentence.”

“Thanks, Amber. I appreciate it.”

Amber nodded before looking up at the window denoting Verdauga’s chamber, wondering how much longer the occupant would be with them.

But that was a worry for later. For now, archery practice beckoned.

_~Autumn~_

The bell tolled, signaling the start of the day, and Sister Ethnella got prepared as fast as she could. Today was the day of balance as they called it at Loamhedge, the day in which light and dark held sway over roughly equal amounts of time, and Ethnella had no intention of being late for morning prayer. _Abbess Germaine’ll have my hide if I wander in a quarter of the way through First Hour devotions again, no matter how peace-loving she is._ Ethnella could just see it now: if she was late she would be forced to stand in the courtyard of the abbey for an entire day bearing a wooden plaque saying ‘truant’ the way Sister Linfa had last spring. _That_ would just be embarrassing.

Thankfully, Ethnella managed to make it into the great hall just as the Abbess was taking her place at the pulpit, and so was able to make her way to one of the great wooden benches without Germain so much as noticing her. It was strange, though: by Ethnella’s estimate, only about half the postulants of the Abbey had beaten her to the room. _Germaine’s about to start, though. Where IS everybeast?_ Perhaps they were running even later than she was.

In the end, however, only a scant eight more mice trickled in by the time Abbess Germain was ready to begin. The old mouse cleared her throat, studied the room and sighed, and then closed her eyes to initiate the prayer.

“Creators, bringers of our life,

We thank thee for thy work;

Whe land we stride,

We tend with pride,

Until the Dark Forest calls.

Give us our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive those who trespass against us;

And lead us not to temptation,

But deliver us from evil;

For this world is all thine’s,

And its riches, and its bounties,

Forever and ever.”

Next came the hymns, a mixture of hymns speaking of the joys of life and the peace of the Dark Forest, followed by a minute’s silent contemplation.

Afterwards, Abbess Germain put away her hymn book and looked out at the audience.

“I am thankful to all those who are gathered in this room, yet hold our absent Brothers and Sisters not in contempt, but in understanding. In times such as these we have naught to gain from petty arguments over who is the most devout or the ideal postulant. Such ideals are little more than dangerous hubris at the best of times, and now we are far from the ‘best of times’. The sickness at our gates is in truth a great trial, the likes of which Loamhedge has not seen in years, and if we are to survive this tribulation we must do it _together._ ”

The Abbess smiled. “That we will survive, though, I have no doubt. After all, I did not say that our fair abbey has never endured a trial of this scope before, and just as we survived the trials of our past will we emerge from this one stronger and closer. It will be a long road, dark and twisting, but our faith and our bonds will see us through.”

_Calming words,_ Ethnella thought to herself, _although to me they seem a bit…meaningless._

As if to echo that thought, the mouse to Ethnella’s left _huffed_. “Might as well speak in an ancient tongue, for all the worth those words had.”

“ _Hush_ , Columbine! Didn’t you hear what the Abbess said? We need to be united if we’re going to make it through this!” Ethnella whispered.

Columbine turned and studied Ethnella with a look that was both sad and curious. “I wish I could believe that.” She muttered as she turned back to face the front.

Once the morning prayers had concluded all those in attendance began to scatter to their morning chores, and Ethnella was heading to join the group in charge of tending the gardens when she felt a paw tap her shoulder.

It was Abbess Germaine. “Come with me, sister. I would like to talk with you.”

The older mouse started down the hallway in the opposite direction, and as they were passing the cloisters Ethnella realized that they were heading towards the infirmary. _Oh, no. Has the Abbess fallen ill, too?_ The thought chilled her to the bone.

As they came to a large, white column just outside the infirmary doors, Germaine stopped and stood against it. “I noticed you were arguing with Sister Columbine during prayer. Care to tell me what that was about?”

Ethnella blushed. “Forgive me, Abbess, I meant no disrespect. Quite the opposite, in fact – Sister Columbine was complaining about your speech and calling it meaningless, and I reprimanded her for it.” Germaine looked more saddened than anything, but it made her feel chastised all the same. “Oh, I hope I didn’t do a grievous wrong.”

Germaine shook her head. “I forgive you, sister. Although perhaps you should have stayed silent, you only spoke up out of devotion. But, truth be told, I cannot say that Columbine was wrong.” Without elaborating the Abbess turned and beckoned. “Come with me. I must show you something.” Coming to the infirmary door, she hesitated the briefest of moments before pushing it open.

What she saw inside stole the breath from Ethnella’s mouth.

_By the fur, there…there’s so many of them._

Tables, flooring, cabinets; it seemed as though every single surface in the room was taken up by a creature in various stages of sickness. The creatures towards the front were sweating as though it was still the height of summer, even those with towels of cold water on their head, while other creatures directly behind them shivered under the thickest blankets in the abbey. Others struggled to even draw a single breath, while still others did nothing but moan. Amongst them all, a few healers wandered up and down the endless rows, expressions uniformly grim.

A few creatures in the back, Ethnella realized in horror, were entirely still, even their chests. She turned to the Abbess, expecting answers, but instead the old mouse walked forwards to the lead healer.

“How many did we lose during the night, Euphemia?”

“Six.” Euphemia’s face was taut with lines of grief. “Most of them were elderly, as normal, but Brother Caules passed away as well.”

Ethnella raised a paw to her mouth. “But Brother Caules wasn’t even twenty-five! If a mouse like _him_ can fall to this, that means…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Euphemia finished it for her. “That means nobeast is safe. This hits the young, the old, the healthy, the infirm.”

“Has anybeast found a cure yet?”

“No, Abbess. Amyl’s searching all the records along with half a dozen others, but so far they’ve turned up nothing. All we can do is pray. Pray, and try to help the stricken however we can.”

One of the mice near the door moaned. “Water. Please…water…”

Ethnella grabbed a bowl and filled it with water from a barrel in the corner of the room. Walking to the sick mouse, she gently tipped the bowl upwards until the water began to flow into the poor craeture’s mouth. “Is this helping?”

“A little…it…it could be a bit warmer, though.”

Frowning, Ethnella raised the bowl to her own lips and took a sip. _That’s strange. It seems lukewarm enough already. Perhaps that’s just the fever talking._

Germaine and Ethnella remained in the infirmary for most of the morning, helping feed the hungry and replace the towels on the overheating, but when it was nearing noon Germain beckoned the younger mouse to follow her out of the room.

Ethnella was unable to keep the question she’d been thinking to herself any longer: “Why did you show me this?”

Germaine sighed and sat down on a stone bench. “Because I want your advice.”

“Me?” _That doesn’t make any sense – I’m far from the smartest postulant around here, or the most devout, so why’s she asking MY opinion?_ “Why not Brother Amyl or Sister Martha?”

Germaine looked down at the ground. “Because I need to make a hard choice, and, as strange as this may seem, I don’t want to ask somebeast who’s _too_ devout.”

“I don’t understand. How could anybeast be too devout?”

“Normally they couldn’t, but what we’re dealing with is the farthest thing from normal. Loamhedge is under siege by an enemy we cannot fight and cannot even see, Ethnella, and so in order to find a solution I have needed to consider…desperate options. Ones that go against everything we stand for.” Germaine took a deep breath, steeling herself to choose her next words carefully. “My first thought was to evacuate the abbey. Perhaps if we get far enough away from Loamhedge, we can escape the source of this plague.”

“Evacuate? Well, I suppose there’s no helping it, although I can’t see why Amyl or Martha would object to that. A building’s just a building, is it not?”

Germaine nodded. “It is, even as holy a place as this one. The main problem is what that would entail.” The older mouse looked back at the ground, her paws balled up into tight fists; Ethnella realized the Abbess was quivering like a leaf.

“If we abandon Loamhedge, we will need to leave the sick behind. They will perish, that is certain, but once we leave them behind the healthy will have nobeast to get sick from.”

“No.” Ethnella spoke with a firmness that surprised even her. “Absolutely not. That’s going to far. We can’t abandon the sick and the weak to save our own skins.”

“Even if doing so condemns us all?” Germaine’s voice lost all of its normal gentleness, instead cracking like a whip. “Even if leaving them, hard as it is, might be the only way to survive?”

“Life bought at the cost of betraying all of our ideals. If we cast aside the sick the moment it becomes convenient, Abbess, what does that make us?”

“Do you honestly think I _wanted_ it to come to this? Because I didn’t, Ethnella. I hoped as hard as any creature here that we’d find some cure, but the chance of that happening becomes scarcer by the day.”

Ethnella realized that, for the first time in her life, she wanted to hit somebeast. _And Abbess Germaine, no less!_ “Well, it sounds to me as though you’ve already made up your mind. So why did you even bother asking my opinion?”

“Because I wanted to hear it. Because I thought maybe, just maybe, there was something I missed. I suppose I was a fool to hope so.”

“Better a fool than a hypocrite.” Ethnella turned and stormed away, not wanting to hear another word.

As she walked the world in front of her started to swim, and by the time Ethnella arrived back at the dormitories she was crying.

“Fur and whisker, tooth and claw,

All who enter by our door.

Nuts and herbs, leaves and fruits,

Berries, tubers, plants and roots,

Silver fish whose live we take, only for a meal to make.

We give thanks to you, for nourishing our bodies and spirits.”

Abbess Germaine spoke the same prayer every lunch, and normally, if Ethnella paid it any mind at all, she found it comforting. Today, after their argument in the courtyard, she had to restrain herself from standing up and shouting ‘ _how dare you sully those words, you filthy hypocrite!_ ’ So instead she dug into the food, scowling.

“Is something the matter, sister?” Columbine asked.

Ethnella took a large swallow of crushed berries – it was a bit more difficult than normal, for some reason – before turning to the other mouse. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Why?”

Columbine gestured at Ethnella’s plate. “You’ve been stabbing your food like you’re trying to kill it.”

“Nothing’s the matter, so don’t mind me.” Ethnella absentmindedly loosened her habit. “Say, is it just me, or is it rather hot in here all of a sudden?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Winter:  
> \--Tsarmina returns, and with her the pointless cruelty. Means I need to update the content warnings a bit.  
> \--The Tsarmina-Swartt dynamic is one that I'm anticipating have a bit of trouble writing, considering their conflicting personalities, but at the same time I think I'm going to enjoy the challenge.  
> -Spring:  
> \--For those curious, I'm using actual measurements from pre-modern England. It's still a bit anachronistic, but I feel like it adds a bit of flavor. It's also more immersive in my opinion than sticking with either US Customary or Metric, as long as I can still get the point across.  
> \--I'm curious about something - I've tried to give Sunflash at least a bit of a gradual development arc across the four chapters set at Salamandastron, but I wonder how evident it is.  
> -Summer:  
> \--No, it's not a coincidence that all of the sections this chapter are from the perspective of female characters. After finishing up chapter II I realized that I only had written a single female POV out of the eight so far, and so I really wanted to bump that up. It's not an even split, but it's a hell of a lot closer than I was on track for originally.  
> \--Amber's firing speed is perfectly plausible for an archer, incidentally; it's actually a bit below the record, as far as I could glean.  
> -Autumn:  
> \--As far as I recall the exact disease that struck Loamhedge wasn't described in any great detail in the books, so for convenience I'm conflating it with Dryditch fever from Salamandastron.  
> \--I'm glad that I was able to give Columbine a little cameo. I'm not glad that it took until the very last section for me to feel like I got this thing to pass the Bechdel Test, but I suppose that's better than not passing it at all. 
> 
> Welp, that's the end of this little interim fic. When I'll get started on the proper sequel I'm not sure, but I'm hoping that I can get started by mid-november? It depends on the workload/studying/etc. But rest assured that it IS coming. Eventually.  
> In the mean time, I hope this is enough to tide y'all over for now. 
> 
> On a side note, is it bad that I've actually started assigning some of the characters themes from games/shows that I've been watching? Because I totally have:  
> (Obviously I claim no ownership of any of this music)  
> Martin - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YA2P8o07SKQ (Fodlan Winds)  
> Tsarmina - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t2zyKNkph0E (Illyasviel von Einzbern)  
> Gingivere - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGtHZ9M0mHY&list=PLOxQSRLDjdYYt6Iew3ayypSgAkoQA8Gq (Peaceful Uruk)  
> Gonff - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_MTj22Q0qc (The Road Most Traveled)  
> And a few for characters yet to come:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V37oIGnoxPk (Aerith's theme)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZndhf115L4& (Chasing Daybreak)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gHeEV_kwenM (Riku)  
> All are characters from the books, incidentally.


End file.
